My Little Friend
by thievesfire
Summary: separated from his brothers and on the run, his luck is about to run out...
1. A Hard Man To Find

**((so this is my first ever fanfiction, so please be kind! The story line and setting are mine. All characters are based on those from the WWE and unfortunately I don't own any of them! Please leave comments and let me know if you think this is worth continuing, it was just a short scene which popped into my head!))**

**KENNEDY**

He'd never been afraid of the dark. In so many ways, it felt more natural to him than the day. After all, people like him didn't mix so well with those who walked in the sun. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of the loose hoodie he wore; meager protection against the cold but it was all he had. The hood was pulled low. Perhaps he was testing himself tonight, seeing just how far he could push his luck – he liked a challenge. He stepped through puddles, old and oily like everything around that part of town. The rain that splattered and pitched off of rooftops and the asphalt even smelled wrong. He sniffed and kept his head down, passed by staring eyes and snide comments. Maybe he would have stopped normally, given a smirk and blunted some jaws. But not tonight.

His hair curled from the damp, jeans starting to wet through. He knew this route backwards and passed from shadow through lamplight, to the busier roads where cars screamed by. Here and there he was met with obtrusive looks, people who knew him, people who didn't give a flying fuck. Too many were out in the rain, but when you had nowhere to go, the weather didn't matter. He turned up Helier Street. Narrow and deserted, there was little light and less places to hide. A quick scan around and he quickened his pace. More footsteps, heavy, deliberate. A glance behind told him not only was he no longer alone, he'd just found trouble.

Water splashed from the sidewalk as he took his chances and ran. He was small, fast. He dodged around a corner and down into the darkness of a side street he didn't know. His breathing quickened and he stole frantic looks behind. They were catching up.

'Fuck.' He hissed. Left. He turned at the last second and shot off down another unknown street. This was dangerous; he didn't know where he was headed. It felt like he was being herded toward something, or someone. Another glance. Too close, they were too fucking close! He looked back too late and slammed face first into the stony chest of someone much bigger. He fell back, scrapping his hands and knocking his head against the sidewalk. He blinked, once, twice, couldn't see nothing except fucking stars.

'Get him up.'

He found himself being hurled to his feet, strong arms and hands holding him firm, they bent him forward, pulled his arms back behind him. He struggled, of course he did, but they held on, clearly amused by his attempts to get free. The hood was pulled back and fingers curled into his dirty blond hair; his head was pulled up and he found himself greeted with a cruel Cheshire cat grin.

'You know you're a hard man to find Mr. Ambrose. I dare say you've done well to hide from us for so long, but all games must have a winner, and this hand is mine.'

'Oh yeah? What makes you so sure huh?' he asked, defiance in his eyes. He hawked and spat down onto the shiny leather shoes below. 'You're getting nothing from me.'

A click of the fingers and two fists found his gut. He coughed and grunted in dull pain, hissed as his head was pulled back up.

'I will. Eventually. Just two more to go Mr. Ambrose. Your brothers may have thought leaving you behind was the smart thing to do, but we're on their trail. No one steals from the Game.'

'It's not stealing if it was ours to begin with shit stick.' He snarled and tried to kick out, he was heaved back and near brought to his knees. The Game chuckled darkly. He released Ambrose's hair. In his hand he held something Dean had been acquainted with many months before, and would rather not meet again. The Game leveled the weapon, an old sledgehammer with _my little friend_ carved into the handle, and raised Ambrose's chin with the head.

'Don't test me Dean. Remember what happens to people who do.'

'They get the Hunter surprise? A long slow fuck up the ass?'

The goon on the left, a smooth headed creature with viper like eyes and a sadistic smirk bent his captive's arm back, he heard bones crunch and licked his upper lip with anticipation for the kill.

'Let's just fuck him up now boss, leave him for the other two behind.'

'No.'

Dean tried to jerk his head away from the sledgehammer but the Game jarred it into his throat, crushing his Adams apple.

'We have him, the other two will come to us.' He looked up to the rain and a distant rumble of thunder, pushed a thick hand into the pockets of his smart woolen coat, and his neck disappeared beneath his collar. The sledgehammer was leveled onto his shoulder and her jerked his head north. 'Come on, let's leave this shit hole, my shoes are getting spoiled. Drag him if you have to, the car is waiting, and I advise his journey is as uncomfortable as possible gentlemen.'

The look in his eye bothered Ambrose as he buckled against the two goons. He knew them by name, Randall and Dave. They'd once all been on the same side, before the bad guys got their shoes shined and bought fancy coats. Their greed had brought the whole rebellion to its knees. Men like the Game had too much power; corruption seeped into every pore of the screwed up city they called home. He heard Ambrose swear and growl behind him.

'Shut him up. I don't want to hear a word out of the bastard's mouth until we return to North Side. There, he can scream all he wants.'

'Nighty night,' Randy snickered as Dave slammed a meaty fist straight across Ambrose's jaw. He caught the limp body and slung it over his shoulder. The two men nodded to each other and hurried after the Game. Ambrose, half dazed and blind, somehow managed to flick off the fingerless glove he was wearing. It slapped down into a puddle budding on the uneven pavement. They would know, it'd be enough...it had better be. He slumped back and forth between consciousness, and in his short lucid moments, wondered just what was in store for him, and if they too were caught, his brothers...


	2. Be Safe, Brother

**(( a big thank you to everyone who has read this so far! I was itching to write more so I couldn't just let it lie. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter! ))**

**HARRISON**

The last light of the day had faded long before, and the moon was obscured by low clouds. There was a heat that promised storms, over the crackling static of the radio there was warning of hurricane winds. You'd be a fool to step out into the chaos. The old windows rattled high up on the walls. A cruel wind snuck in to chill the already freezing space. An old trash can sat center of the floor, stuffed with newspaper and old bits of timber. Four damp matches had somehow managed to set it alight. The flames rolled off it bright, but flickered dangerously as the wind picked up. Two shadows warmed themselves by the fire. One held out his massive hands and relished the heat.

'Careful you don't burn yourself. Last thing we need is a superman who can't punch through walls.'

The giant chuckled but didn't respond.

'I mean it Roman.' His company came closer into the light, revealing blond and brown hair matted from lack of care. The beard on his chin was unkempt; he looked shallow, exhausted, sick. 'Who's gonna look after you if you can't fight huh?'

'Not you.' His voice was deep, almost velvet like, but his eyes were hard as he lowered his hands and focused in on a particular piece of newspaper as it curled and burned away. The storm outside was picking up speed; he could hear the scream as the wind cut through the world. The walls of the warehouse were thin, but it was enough. They'd spent three days there now. Normally it'd be a different place each night, but something had happened. Seth was sick, at first he brushed it off as just a cold, but Roman was no fool. He heard the fever in the night, saw how his brother shook. It wasn't safe to stay, but there was no way he could move him. 'Why aren't you sleeping?'

'Think I can sleep with that racket?' he had a tattered old blanket wrapped around his shoulders and he sat down in front of the fire, head on his knees. His stare was blank, and Roman knew what he was thinking. 'I'm worried about Dean.'

'It was his decision to stay behind. You know that.'

'We shouldn't have left him.'

'I know. But he gave us no choice. If we'd all tried to run, we would have been caught. He knew, he saw that.'

'Do you think it was worth it? Us living like this? Remember when we used to walk with the Game? Remember how we did everything he wanted and it was all good?'

'Then it wasn't.'

Seth muttered something to himself. He coughed, spat to his left and closed his eyes. 'I want to go back for Dean.'

'You're not going anywhere.' Roman sat down heavily on one of the hundreds of crates that lined the warehouse. They'd been lucky. Someone was foolish enough to just leave the place padlocked. There wasn't a lock invented that could keep Seth out. His light fingers had gotten them out of trouble just as often as it got them into it. He looked about him; all shadows. Who knew what was inside all those boxes? There was one, and one alone they knew the contents of, hidden away in the shadows. His long hair ran over his shoulders like the rain that started to pour, his serious eyes saw the state of his friend. He needed a doctor, a hospital even, but if they so much as checked into one, he knew they'd be found out. Dean had always been the one with contacts, who knew people who knew people who had an uncle. They needed him, Seth was getting worse, and Roman had no idea how to help him.

'I'll get him.'

'You're not leaving me here. You're not going out there in this. You'll end up the same.'

'If I don't go now I won't get there before morning. I have to.' Roman stood, his old boots were beginning to wear thin, his coat had tears and chunks missing, it was difficult to acquire new things when your thief was sick and you were on the run. 'I'll be back tomorrow night.'

'What about me? Huh? You can't just leave me behind. What if something happens? Someone finds me?' Seth, who normally would have fought proudly beside his brothers, genuinely looked worried. He knew, as well as Roman, that he was in no condition to fight, he could barely keep himself up right sitting down, let alone land punches. The rain smacked the windows like bullets, and Roman turned his head toward the sound.

'You go out there you're no use to me Seth, I need to be able to move fast. I'll be back before you know it. If something happens, hide. Don't let them find you.' He moved toward his seated friend, and caught his head with his arm, bent and pulled him against his chest in a brief hug. He kissed the top of the man's head. 'Be safe brother.'

He moved away, toward the door and Seth had to brace himself against one of the crates, head spinning as Roman left. The door swung shut and he heard it lock, leaving him alone with just the crackling flames. He shivered, and glanced around him. Too quiet, too alone. He closed his eyes, put his head against his knees once again, and tried to will himself to sleep.

* * *

><p>Roman heaved his hood up over his head, pulled it low over his eyes and tucked his hair back into cover. He didn't want to leave Seth, but knew he had little choice. Dean was miles away. From his endless years of getting busted up, infections and blows with death, their lunatic friend would be able to do more for Seth than Roman would; at least until someone who actually knew what they were doing could come and help. He sniffed and cast his eyes left and right. No one knew who they were. In times like these, people didn't take too kindly to strangers in their town. They'd managed to come under the cover of darkness before, and he knew it would be the only way he could leave. The warehouse district sat by the sea and he could see the waves, black and fierce, far too close for comfort. Dean would hate it here. He couldn't swim, and had always watched the waters with suspicion.<p>

He started to walk, kept an even pace. He knew he was being watched by dozens of cameras, could almost hear them swivel in place above the thunder. So he stayed in the dark, moved when they turned away. Did his best to remain invisible; not his forte, that was Seth and Dean's area. Men like him were hard to hide. He paused beside the old truck they'd managed to swipe when they'd left Kennedy. It was covered with a heavy tarpaulin found in the back. Roman crouched, there was a camera directly opposite, perched on the corner of the neighbouring warehouse. It turned slowly, deliberately. He doubted it'd see much past the sheets of rain but he couldn't take his chances. The Game had seeds everywhere, every town, hand in every pocket. If Roman was spotted, he knew it could spell the end for them all. He watched the camera turn, it had a blind spot where it turned to look where delivery trucks came in. His hand clutched the edge of the tarpaulin, tied to the wheels and he started to quickly undo the clumsy knots he'd tied nights before. His breathing was heavy as the string released. The camera moved to the left. He ducked to the other side and started to undo the others.

The tarpaulin threatened to fly free but he clung on, the camera moved. He heaved it off the truck and heaved open the door. Roman clambered inside and threw the sheet into the back seat. He shivered and pulled down his hood, soaked through. Thank fuck the heating worked in this thing. He grabbed the keys from under the seat and pushed them into the ignition. He couldn't see the camera anymore. He'd have to take his chances. Under his breath he counted to ten. He turned the key.

Later that night there were reports of an unknown vehicle speeding through the streets. But no one got a license plate; no one saw who was driving, or even the colour. The storm had been his cover, now he had to find Dean.


	3. Known A Lot Of Canadians

**((thank you to those who have reviewed and stuck with me! I'm really beginning to enjoy writing this story now, so who knows where it'll go! Hopefully you'll like this chapter, please remember to let me know what you think in the comments! Thank you!))**

**INTERSTATE HIGHWAY 84, MAMA'S DINER**

Endless lights flashed by, the highway going on forever to his tired eyes. He could remember when they'd been going the opposite way. How he'd had to keep in the agony of leaving his friend behind, how Seth screamed and yelled for him to stop. He could remember dragging the thief away from Dean. The look that Ambrose gave them both. _See ya later assholes_. It almost made him smile. It had hurt to leave him. They'd always said that it was them against the world. They'd never leave one behind. Never. They'd been given no choice. Dean had stayed because he knew he could distract the Game and his men long enough for his brothers to escape.

He blinked hard to try and wake himself up, one window open despite the storm. There were few cars on the road. Every now and again another would appear out of nowhere, the sound, the lights jerking him back to reality. He should have been used to no sleep, but something about the night exhausted him. He had to get to Kennedy; nothing would stop him, no storm, not even his own needs, his own body. A glance into the rear view mirror showed his worn face and those dark eyes that almost seemed to sink into his own skull.

Seth had been right, when they'd worked for the Game, things had all been good. They'd had easier lives. The three man wrecking crew had destroyed as much as they'd created, and when they'd realized where they were being lead, what the Game wanted them to become, they had to break away. They were fighting for a better world, for a just world, and it became clear when they'd stood up to his mountainous second in command, Kane, that they'd been played.

The wind screen wipers squeaked.

Roman glanced down at the fuel. Running low, too low, not enough to get him to Kennedy. He punched the steering wheel irritably.

'Fuck...' he squinted through the rain at every sign that passed, looking for a gas station. He didn't want to stop. The Game would know. A rumble of thunder broke the sky and for a moment he thought he saw lightning. No, not lightning, another sign that flashed white in the headlights; gas station, five miles then a right. Knowing he had no choice, he signalled and pulled off.

It was a large pit stop with a separate diner, new from the look of it. But Roman wasn't there to appreciate its aesthetics. He pulled up at one of the pumps and a young attendant, his coat over his head dashed over before Roman could get out of the door to refuel himself.

'What'll it be sir? Nice truck, don't make 'em like this anymore, had one like it on my daddy's farm.' He looked over it enthusiastically. Roman glared out the open window at him. The kid took a step back with a slight gulp. 'Shall I fill her up sir?'

A slow nod. Another peel of thunder broke the atmosphere, and this time there was no mistaking the lightning. The rain continued to hammer and Roman knew he was wasting time. The longer he was there, the more likely it was he'd be spotted or someone recognized the truck. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel and watched the dollars roll on up. He had little money. Only what they'd managed to pull from their pockets and what Dean could stuff into their hands before they separated.

Roman glanced over to the diner. It was quiet; he could only see a handful of people through the windows. His stomach clenched and he realized it had been days since he'd eaten last. Any food they'd had he'd given to Seth to try and keep his strength up. Hadn't done much good, anything that went down came up again within minutes. The attendant kept glancing up at him, and Roman did his best to remain in the shadows of the car. He could just be an innocent kid, but he'd learned not to trust anyone.

'Daddy's truck was red, not this nice dark green like yours sir, bit rusty in places, looks like it's been used well! How long ya had it?'

'Week.' Roman muttered. He was pretty sure that Jesse James, the actual owner of the truck would have run over the kids head for daring to suggest there was anything wrong with it. The thing was weathered and unreliable, but it had been his pride and joy. The sheer thought of the rage on Jesse's face was enough to bring a dark smirk to Roman.

'Well that's it sir, all full. That'll be fifty one dollars thirty.'

Roman didn't move. He already knew he didn't have enough. He pulled out the inside of his pockets. Thirty dollars and a couple of dimes wasn't going to get him anywhere. He desperately checked the glove box. Well what do ya know. Jesse's wallet. Roman pulled it open and flicked through the dozens of notes inside. The wicked were paid well. He pulled out a fifty and coupled it with one of his tens.

'Keep the change.'

'Thanks sir!' the kid said brightly – clearly it was the best tip he'd received all day and Roman suddenly felt he'd been too generous. 'Just so ya know it's steak night over in _Mama's,_' he flinched as lightning struck again and pulled his coat a little closer over his head. 'Think the storm's getting worse, might be best to wait it out.'

'I'm in a hurry -,'

'Cos heading into Kennedy I hear there's trees down on the highway, that's where you're heading right sir? No one goes this way 'less they're heading to the city.'

Kid needed his nose ploughed into the dirt. But if he was right, there'd be no way he was getting into the city until everything had been cleared. He couldn't just abandon the truck and go on foot, he didn't know how far it would be and Seth was right, he spent too long in the storm, he'd end up sick too. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Roman grunted and nodded.

'Want me to move your truck for ya sir?'

'No. I got it.'

'Suit yourself sir, want me to come find you if we get any news on those trees?'

A slow nod. Roman put the truck into gear and moved it on over next to the diner. There were two other cars and a bike that had been knocked over by the wind. He parked, and came out next to the bike. The wind and rain bit his face but he stopped and heaved the machine back up right. The truck caught most of the force so perhaps it wouldn't fall again. If it did, not his problem. Dripping wet from only being outside for a minute, Roman stomped through the doors of the diner. It was a red and white affair, with booth tables and a waitress who instantly spotted him. He pulled his hood down a little further as she approached. She was all smiles, bright white teeth and blond hair.

'Hi there! Can I get you a table?'

'Er,' he looked about cautiously. 'Sure.' He couldn't see anyone he recognized but he wasn't taking any chances. He needed to stay out of the way and not show his face.

'If you'll follow me sir, would you like a window seat? Not much of a view tonight but -,'

'Sure.' He cut her off. She didn't seem to mind however and lead him to a table right in the corner, it was just out of the glare of the lights, with high backed seats. No one would see him unless they knew he was there. Perfect. He shifted his bulk and somehow managed to squeeze himself between the table and the seat. It was awkward, he remembered the last time he'd been to a place like this Dean and had spent the whole time flirting with the waitress and stealing other people's food. He'd sworn he'd never go to one again with him, seems he was keeping to that promise.

She handed him a menu. 'My name is Renee and I'll be your server this evening. Can I get you a drink at all?'

The menu was cheap and plastic, but his stomach didn't care.

'We have homemade root beer, it's real good, or coke, coffee...'

'Root beer.'

'Sure.' She said, she was far too cheerful for how fucking quiet it was. For the fact that he possibly looked like the last person you should welcome into a respectable establishment. 'I'll bring that on over for you.'

She disappeared. Roman sniffed. Water dripped from the edge of his hood onto the menu. He didn't like it. He kept looking about but no one was so much as glancing his way. He was cold, pissed off and just wanted to get into the city. It felt like he was wasting his time. His heart felt like someone was chucking it against his ribs. That guy over there – the short order chef, hadn't he seen him before? That long hair looked fucking familiar. Roman narrowed his eyes and didn't even notice when Renee returned.

'Got your drink here,' she said and set it down on the table along with cutlery. 'Did you decide what you wanted? It's steak night. T-bone for ten dollars, done just how you like it.'

'Canadian?'

'How'd you guess?'

'I've known a lot of Canadians.'

She grinned at that and caught a stray hair that had escaped from her little waitress cap, and tucked it behind her ear. 'Gotta admit when I came down to the states it wasn't exactly my big dream to be enthusiastically telling strangers about steak.'

'What did you wanna do?' he actually surprised himself there. Why on earth did he want to know? He didn't care. He had bigger things to do.

'Me?' she too looked rather shocked that someone would ask. 'I, well I wanted to be a journalist.'

'Known a lot of journalists.' Roman muttered.

Renee giggled. The rain changed direction and smacked directly against the window next to them. In the outside light, Roman could see that the bike had tumbled over again. The dark skies seemed to swirl and almost focus on where they were. Renee lent on the table and peered out into the storm.

'It's horrid out there. I'm not looking forward to my shift ending and going out in _that_ that's for sure.'

A set of lights cruised into the parking lot. Roman turned his head away from the window, Renee noticed, but didn't say anything.

'So what can I get ya Mr...?'

'Steak.'

'Fancy that.' She took his menu. 'Comes with fries and a salad. How do ya like your steak?'

'Rare.'

'Still alive then.' She was trying to make him laugh, he could tell, but as the door opened and he heard the sound of scuffing feet on the mat, he lowered his head. She was sweet and seemed to realize something was wrong, because she left without another word. He heard her place his order with the short order chef, who very briefly, glanced Roman's way. He caught his eye. He knew that face. Where did he know that face? He needed to go.

Footsteps.

'How about this table here sir?'

Someone sat down. It wasn't a booth, one of the lone tables floating out on the floor. Roman chanced a look.

Fuck.

The smooth headed man had strong features, and Roman knew beneath the suit, he was not someone you wanted to mess with. In some circles he was known as the King, in others he was simply known for a move that could knock your senses straight out of your skull. His immaculate manner of dress and European accent threw most people off his trail. But Roman knew, oh he knew. The espresso ordering Swiss man had nearly killed Dean multiple times in the past; was the one ordered by the Game to punish those who didn't obey. He ran the underground fight promotions.

Antonio Cesaro.

He watched as Renee set down the cup and saucer next to the well dressed bastard and motioned for her to come on over.

'Everything alright?' she asked, quietly. She was a smart one.

'That man.'

'Mr Cesaro?'

'I can't let him see me Renee,'

'Mr, are you in some kind of trouble?'

Roman leaned in, desperation in his eyes. 'Listen to me, babygirl, I gotta get out of here. Is there any way other than out the entrance?'

Her face softened a little at what he called her. Dean had always teased that he could turn ovaries to goo with a smile and a well timed pet name. Well now was the time to make it happen.

'There's a fire exit out the way of the toilets, it'll set the alarms off though if you open it.'

Roman swore under his breath. The chef cast him another look. He _knew_ that face. How? Where had he seen that man before? It wasn't safe to stay.

'Would you be able to turn it off?'

She looked at him with wide eyes. He realized what he was asking her.

'I can't just turn the alarm off.'

'Listen,' he caught her hand in his two huge mitts, his dark eyes looked up into hers from under that hood. That velvet voice was urgent. 'I wouldn't ask you to do this unless it was actually a matter of me getting my head kicked in and your nice floor getting all bloody. Which it is. Please. I need your help Renee.'

She bit her lip, and glanced over her shoulder to where Cesaro sat, sipping his espresso.

'I could...perhaps...set the alarm off to begin with, you could get out in the confusion, maybe?'

He squeezed her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it lightly. Her nails were painted scarlet.

'Thank you.'

'But first, tell me your name.'

He was hesitant.

'I'm not doing something that could get me fired unless the man asking me to do it at the very _least_ tells me his name.' She pulled her hand away and put them both on her hips, eyebrows raised. Cesaro had finished his drink and clicked for her attention. She looked over her shoulder, winked, smiled. 'One second sir.' She turned back. 'Name, mr.'

'Roman. It's Roman.'

'Well It's Roman. I hope you're worth this.'

She walked away and he wasn't sure, but he thought she wiggled her ass at him. He put his head in his hand. He knew it was a stupid idea coming in here. He should have taken his chances with the storm and the trees. He'd wasted his time, Seth's time. Who knew what state he could be in back in that freezing warehouse? He could be dying and here he was sat in a fucking diner having to beg someone to get him out.

'Coming right up.' He heard Renee say.

He saw her disappear behind the counter, out to the backroom. Suddenly a harsh siren like noise started to sound. Ceasaro looked about him, got out of his seat and went to the counter. Roman stood and dashed to where the toilet doors were. He pushed his way on through. Four doors. Far end, one on the left that presumably lead to the kitchen, the toilets on the right. The fire exit sign was illuminated over the one at the end. Roman made for it, but found his way blocked as the left hand door swung open.

The short order chef stood in his way.

'I knew I recognized you Reigns, and when you bolted, I couldn't make it easy for you.'

Roman stood firm, legs planted, hands opened and closed, his eyes on his opponent. The man held a spatula. Not the most intimidating of weapons.

'You don't know who I am, do you?'

Silence.

'This happens every time...' the chef muttered, and pulled off his chef's hat. That hair, those eyes, that forehead...

Silence.

'Oh come on! Shawn Michaels? The Heartbreak Kid? The Game's best friend and former partner in crime?'

Roman looked at him blankly.

'Ok so it was a few years ago, and when I said I wanted to retire I didn't expect him to land me here cooking up steak for whatever washed in but I always said I'd be loyal to him! He told me about you.' He waved his spatula threateningly in Roman's direction. 'Told me to keep an eye out. And I did, and here you are. He's gonna be so proud of me.'

Roman wasn't sure if this man was senile or just completely deranged, but he didn't have time for this. He made to shove the chef aside but to his astonishment, found him blocking the attempt with ease and shoving Roman back again.

'Not this way hoss.' He said with a cocky smirk. 'This old man still knows how to take on bucks like you.'

Roman gritted his teeth, and charged once again, he raised his right fist, but it only found air. Michaels moved like lightning and caught him with an elbow to the ear. Roman stumbled, hand to his head, his eyes blurred. With a roar he charged again, this time aimed for the mid-section, but Michaels dodged and brought a knee crashing up into Roman's jaw. He stumbled back, but somehow managed to catch the kick aimed at his head, only to receive one from the other foot a second later. He found himself on his back, bells rung as the older man stood over him with glee.

'I did it. I caught Roman Reigns. I'll be remembered for this.' He pointed the spatula at him once again and it shone cruelly in the light. 'Bet Hunter will be even happier with me once I've rammed this down your throat. You know I've missed this,' he said nostalgically. His face almost looked serene. 'Guess when you've been away from all the madness and violence for a while you kinda fall into routine, day after day doing the same things over and over...but not anymore! Hunter will have me back, just like that when I present your sorry carcass to him!' he put a foot on Roman's chest and leaned forward, 'Now say ahhh...'


	4. Claiming The Gold

**((once again thank you to everyone who has been reading this! I hope you're all still enjoying it, here's another chapter for you! Let me know what you think! I will continue trying to update the story every day as work allows))**

**Mama's Diner**

There was a sharp clang, and for a moment Michaels didn't move. Then, he dropped the spatula, gripped his head in agony and slumped against the wall.

Roman stared up in surprise, and found Renee standing over him, frying pan in hand. She looked shocked, shaken. He was on his feet and grabbed her by the arm.

'Come on, we have to go.'

'I, is he alright? I mean I didn't kill him did I?' she looked at the frying pan uneasily. 'I didn't know what to do, I just thought, I don't know what I was thinking.'

Michaels groaned, and shook his head, but his senses already seemed to be returning. Roman took Renee's hand and dragged her behind him, back through the door into the diner. He slammed the door shut and threw his weight up against it as Michaels tried to hammer his way through from the other side. Renee backed away from him, frying pan still in hand.

'What do we do?'

'Nothing. You do nothing.'

Cesaro. He was behind her and before she could react, he snatched the weapon from her grasp, and one arm was around her neck, tight. Roman's gut clenched, teeth gritted. He shouldn't have come here. Now she was in harm's way and it was his fault. 'Come away from the door Reigns.'

Roman didn't move.

Cesaro constricted his hold on Renee. She gasped, hands clawed at his arm, her desperate eyes were fixed on Roman, pleading. Behind the door Michaels seemed to be kicking, blows that shouldn't have come from someone as small as he was.

'Fuck.' Roman hissed. Cesaro had him beaten and didn't even have to land a blow. Slowly he let go of the handle.

'That's it.' the Swiss man moved his head toward the window. 'This way Reigns. Small steps.'

With murder in his eyes, he did as he was told. Small steps. Small fucking steps. Every single one felt like it took minutes. The door smacked open and Michaels appeared, he looked a little worse for wear but it seemed even a crack shot to the skull wasn't about to keep him down. His hair was dishevelled and lines creased his forehead, but there was something about his eyes. They almost looked younger for having his head smacked in. Roman's fists clenched.

'No no, your hands higher, where I can see them Reigns.'

His eye twitched a little, but he brought his great hands up in front of them, palms open. Michaels scooted round his side to stand next to Cesaro, he was practically bouncing on his toes.

'Hunter's gonna be so pleased.' He didn't seem to be talking to anyone else.

Cesaro's mouth curled into a sick smirk. 'Oh yes. Yes he will. Find something to restrain Mr Reigns with. Can't have him getting away and someone else claiming the gold now, can we?'

Thunder rumbled above them, the lights flickered, and Cesaro glanced about him, Roman made to move, but the Swiss man tightened his hold on the waitress.

'Stay there.' He warned. 'It would be a shame to ruin something so pretty, but I will. If you force me.'

Renee, for all the panic in her eyes, was somehow keeping herself together.

'It's going to be alright Renee,' Roman locked his gaze on her, 'you're going to get out of this, everything's gonna be fine, I promise.'

She swallowed and gave him a shaky nod.

Michaels seemed to have disappeared, only to come back seconds later. He had a roll of cellophane in his hands.

'Hands behind.' Cesaro ordered.

Roman grimaced, but did so. Michaels however seemed to struggle with finding the end of the wrap and stood there, picking at it with his fingernails, muttering to himself. Another blast of thunder, louder this time. The whole room seemed to shake, lights swung, blacking out once more, before relighting. The gap was getting longer, and the darkness they were plunged in was thick. The older man seemed to have finally found the end, and under Cesaro's annoyed glare, he proceeded to knot it around Roman's wrists tightly. The sound of it coming away from the roll set his teeth on edge, the wrap found itself winding what felt like hundreds of times about his hands, locking his fingers into place. Michaels tried to wrap it around his chest, but failed when his arms couldn't reach.

'That'll do Shawn.' It was difficult to tell if the tone was pitying or pissed off. 'Now. We're going for a ride, all of us. The Game will be pleased to see you, I'm sure of that.'

'Let her go. You have me, she's nothing to do with this.' He wasn't asking.

'No. Just to make sure you behave, we're going to take Miss Renee with us.' Cesaro moved toward the door, but paused when he noticed the counter once again. He manoeuvred the two of them back toward it. His free hand reached out, and Roman noticed there was loose change on the surface – he must have been about to leave when the alarm went off. Michaels pushed him forward; Roman glared over his shoulder at him. Michaels didn't seem to care, and tugged Roman's hood, which by some miracle had stayed up, down to his shoulders. His hair fell free and tumbled loose too. Renee stared at him.

Cesaro snatched up his money from the counter, but as he did, his arm loosened a little on Renee's throat. Quick as a ferret, she bit down, one hand out toward the counter, her hand gripped around the handle of the heavy silver tea pot that sat there. Without thinking twice, she hurled it round. There was a sickening crack as it made contact with Cesaro's chiselled jaw. Tea flew from the mouth as the lid dislodged. Some of it hitting Michaels on the side of the face. Thunder.

Lights out.

'Come on!' he felt a hand on his arm, guide him fast to the door as their captors cried out in agony. The door opened and closed, the little bell letting the bastards know their catch was escaping. The outdoor lights flashed back on. They were soaked within seconds. 'Which one is yours?' Renee demanded.

'The truck.'

She dashed on over and opened the driver's side, clambered in and kicked the passenger side open when it stuck. 'Get in dammit get in!' she cried.

He hurled himself forward, somehow managed to scramble into the seat, the door was left swinging as Renee found the keys in the sun visor, started her up and pulled away. Cesaro and Michaels, left in the dirt and the rain, cursing their luck.

Roman struggled to sit up right. He had to give the old man credit; he'd done one hell of a job. The cellophane was better than any cuffs. It was twisted and cut into his wrists; he'd wrapped it around his fingers so tightly he could feel circulation dying. The door swung shut as Renee turned back onto the Interstate. She refused to look at him, refused to talk. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes on the road. The red and yellow waitress uniform was wet through from their short time in the down pour, she'd lost her cap. Her long hair had tumbled down from its bun and hung messily around her shoulders. The truck lights barely broke through the rain, her nose was over the steering wheel. But she knew what she was doing. She'd driven motors like this before.

He couldn't feel his hands. He shifted uncomfortably. She seemed to notice, finally and looked across at him, before she swiftly returned her eyes to the road.

'We should get you out of that.' She muttered. She indicated and brought them to a halt on the hard shoulder. But she didn't let go of the wheel, fingers clutched so tightly around it he thought she might tear it from the dashboard. 'What happened in there Roman?' she stared ahead of her. 'Why did they want to hurt you?' her arms relaxed and she turned in her seat to face him. Those hazel eyes locked onto him with such intensity he didn't dare look away. 'Who are you?'

He tried to shift his wrists into view.

'Saw a knife in the glove box earlier.'

She found it, and seconds later, he was free of his bonds. He rubbed his wrists tenderly. The blood rush back into his fingers made them tingle, feel heavy.

'You're bleeding.' She reached out, touched his forehead where Michael's had kicked him. Roman didn't even flinch. She pushed his wet hair away from his forehead. 'Shawn always was so nice to me...I never thought he'd be capable of hurting someone.'

'We're all capable.' Roman caught her wrist as she tried to properly look at the cut. He'd not even notice the dribble of blood that ran down the side of his face. 'I'm fine.'

'You're fine? That's great Roman. That's really great. Because I'm not fine. I'm not fine at all and I think I'm having a minor freak out here. Tell me why all that happened.'

'It's nothing to do with you.'

Wrong answer.

Her slap knocked his head so hard it near smacked the window. In astonishment, he touched his jaw, eyes wide, and stared at her. Her hand was raised, ready to attack again.

'How _dare_ you tell me it's nothing to do with me! It became my business as soon as you got me involved! He could have killed me!' she lowered her hand and touched her throat gently; 'I could have died in there because of you, and you won't even tell me why.'

The rain spat the windows. Roman found his eyes on the highway once again, the memories of the past three months scrolled through his mind. It wasn't something he wanted to share. They'd kept themselves to themselves. Their problems were theirs. As soon as other people got involved it became too complicated. But she was right.

He'd made it her business.

'My name is Roman Reigns. With my brothers, I was a part of the Shield.'


	5. The Grinning Man

**(( here's chapter five for you my lovelies! Thank you to those who have chosen to follow this story, and who have given me such positive comments! Hopefully you'll continue to enjoy what's to come. ))**

**HARRISON**

They were such haunting dreams. They jerked and twisted, switched with every thunder crash, every flash of lightning through those dusty windows. Dust clogged his nose and throat. Curled up as close to the dying embers as he dared, his fitful sleep made worse by the fever, he shook. The sweat ran over his skin, despite the cold of the endless shadows. The warehouse wasn't made to keep criminals warm. How and when he'd fallen into such a dark slumber he wasn't aware. But the visions that crawled though his brain constricted every nerve, made his heart collide with his ribs. He muttered and his body tensed and contorted. The world had never felt so frozen.

He could see them, all together, stood in black, fists together in victory over some fallen foe. He could see it all; remembered every battle, every drop of blood that he'd cleaned, the haphazard stitches he'd sown. There were those who had tried to rise up, those hearts they'd stomped into the dirt, that rebellion they'd rained down on, the ideas they'd picked apart. Caught on a ride fuelled by their own desire for justice, they'd not known they were being shown the wrong evils. He saw it. Felt every second. Remembered the moment when they'd realized, finally, what they'd done.

The mistake they'd made.

_ They called him the Devil's Favourite Demon. Long before the Game seized control, there was one man feared by all. The one who burned people alive, who electrocuted, who buried alive; his crimes were so great, that only one could have destroyed him. The very man who'd suffered his violence most of all; equally twisted, equally evil, the one known as the Undertaker. But Kane's devotion was bought by the Game. Bought by the blood spilled when the Hounds were set loose. They'd called themselves the Shield. They fought for justice. They were shown everything that the Undertaker had ever done, shown that if he were controlled, Kane would be a great ally. They did the dirty work. Took out the Undertaker, and anyone who dared question the authority of the Game. _

_ Their egos grew, they started to implode. _

_ But one moment brought them down from space. _

_ They'd bitten back so many times, answering to no one other than the Game, they disliked Kane's ambition. They'd snapped, they'd taunt. Petulant children against the machine. He'd threatened them countless times. But they were unafraid. Always so unafraid. That was their strength, their core. _

_ They were fearless._

_ There he stands. Cowering in the corner, accused of something everyone knows he has not done. They're brought in to issue the punishment. They circle. Kane watches with those dead eyes and he laughs. He thinks he knows how it will all play out. How the old man will be left in a bloody heap, barely breathing, broken in so many ways. He thinks he knows. _

_ To harm a man who has done no wrong, there's no justice in that._

_ Finally, they broke the leash that had choked them for so long. But a man like Kane is not so easily destroyed._

Thunder rumbled through his veins. Pain swelled in his gut. Head felt as if it were about to explode. Every rain drop was another hammer strike to the skull. Behind his eyelids, he saw fire. He saw destruction. His brothers' bodies laid out from a thousand strikes. He could taste the old blood on his tongue. Felt fingers in his hair and boots in his ribs. Bile rose in his throat. Half conscious, he turned, felt the acid spill over his lips and splatter next to him like the red they'd all spat. They'd splintered Dean's teeth. They'd buckled his legs. They'd broken Roman's ribs. Their pride in shatters.

The resolution steeled.

_They'd bred soldiers for their petty fights. They'd called mercenaries to damage their 'property'. They'd begun a war that would last until the end of days. No one came to help the men who'd destroyed them all. No one heard their agony. No one cared. But they heard one another, carried, crawled and dragged themselves back together. They found their broken pieces and sowed them into place. A brotherhood forged in the fires of some begotten hell is not so easily demolished. Knowing that they would forever stand alone, they had to make a choice._

_ There stood the Game. Two lieutenants at his side. Snake like. Bestial_

_They'd fought like demons. With everything they'd had. They'd been forced to watch as the three delivered painful retribution on Roman's back; as the sledgehammer rearranged Dean's jaw. But they'd come out triumphant. There was that feeling, that burning, that white hot spark that made them the dominating force. He could feel it smouldering inside, rising like smoke up, up through is entire being._

His eyes flickered open. The smell of his own vomit made him gag. The world wouldn't focus, his breath wouldn't come. The heat had gone, and he found his body gripped in spasm. He tried to roll, to move at all. Cold. So very, very cold. How much time had passed? How long had Roman been gone? He tried to blink away the blurriness. He felt confused, lost. Lightning burst through the higher windows. Disorientated, he cried out, what ground he'd managed to gain stumbled out from under his feet. He panted, body backed up against crates, the blanket forgotten at the foot of the smoulders. 

_There, in the shadows. The grinning man, sights set on him. He could see the promise in his eyes. _

Dreams broke his reality, he tried to stand, to do what he was told, to hide from what he saw. But his legs couldn't hold him; he collapsed not far from where he'd stood. He could hear the cold laughter as he crawled further from the light, from the warmth. That howl, it hunted him through whistling gaps in the walls. He could hear them whisper. Could hear them coming for him.

_You have a choice Seth. _

_You always had a choice. You're the Architect. You built them. You know how to knock them down. You can be remembered, or you can remember their blood staining your hands, when you didn't stop what will happen, what I'll do. You have a choice Seth. Make the right one. _

'Leave me alone!' his hands gripped the sides of his head. His eyes clenched shut. Shaking, the whole world was shaking, some earthquake puncturing his mind. The storm bored through his skull. It blackened his blood; it rained down through his senses. He screamed and he buckled. Voices. Images. Choices.

That weak heart. It could barely cope. Taken a handful of misery for a chance of saving what he loved. He'd stood alone. He'd done what he thought he had to. They'd never wanted him again. But when it had fallen apart, when he'd waited every single day for his end to come, when he'd worn out his usefulness and his false ego had deflated, they'd carried him. Dragged him from the pit he'd fallen into. His brothers. They didn't forgive. They chose to forget, to move on and rebuild. Because that's who they were. That's what they did.

One step closer to immortality, and further from the truth.

They stole so much from the Game.

Seth's body crumpled, caught in a patch of darkness. The sound of his own heart seemed to vibrate from the floor through the walls. A great crash. But there was no light. Numbly, he barely lifted his head from the floor toward the noise. The door. Another. Louder. Closer. Windows, shadows. He tried to crawl, tried to hide. Something, someone was coming. They knew. How did they know he was there?

Another crash. His fingertips and sweating palms somehow dragged him behind some crates. The shadows covered him as the door smashed open.

_Be safe, brother_.


	6. We Bite Different

**(( we're finally back to Dean for this chapter, and I know some of you really wanted to know what happened to him. Sorry I took so long to answer your curiosities! Please enjoy ))**

**KENNEDY**

It was a strange thing to stare up into complete darkness. He could have been blind. But he knew they weren't so kind; mercy wasn't a luxury they afforded, especially for him. Mercy. He could remember that. Somewhere in his memories someone showed it to him. A helping hand to pull him from the stark white world he'd become imprisoned in. He remembered the face and the smile and the eyes because he knew them so well. The one who'd stabbed him in the back, who'd set his broken jaw and protected him because they were brothers. Yes. He remembered. He couldn't forget. Memories were what he had and what he used because he pushed them aside so often. They were his weapons. People tried to use them against him, picked apart his history to find the tastiest pieces to try and force down his throat.

But that just made him thirsty for blood. He got it too, on his hands, in his mouth. Afterward he'd stand with his brothers.

Memories, like the last time he'd seen them. He could almost hear Seth's screams as Roman forced him to leave. Dean was hurt. He'd be too slow. He'd drag them down, but he could stay long enough, do enough to let them escape. And like Houdini, he'd disappeared into the endless night of Kennedy. He'd defied them. He could remember watching from rooftops and alleyways as the men who wore the suits and swung their cocks like fucking sledgehammers walked high and mighty. As the terror and hate continued from the hands of the suits, and not from the Hounds.

His face felt swollen. Shit. Better not have ruined his pretty mug.

The fact he couldn't touch it didn't bother him. What did was when he couldn't sit up, when he found that the roof was so much closer than it should have been, when his nose was mere inches from something solid. No space. No room. He kicked out, both legs as one against the wall, toward the ceiling.

'Let me fucking out!' he snarled. A box, caught in a fucking box. Oh he knew boxes. Spent half his life in one when his Ma gave up and loved bath water more than him. He'd found her, they'd blamed him, said he'd done it. Bang! Went the doors, out the barred windows went freedom and came forth the placards. _What do you see when you look at this picture?_ He saw stars. All he wanted to see were the stars. Out on the cold streets you could look up and find freedom studded to the sky. Locked away, strapped up you found nothing but the white staring down at you. He'd traded blankness for darkness here. Another kick, pain in his legs, panic in his motions. He'd fought them all until they'd punctured his skin and injected slobber mouthed calm. Too small. Too enclosed. There were no stars in here.

He continued to kick. He couldn't feel his hands. Didn't matter. Feet were just as good as fists. No matter which way he turned he was met with walls. His heart felt too fast, his breathing too quick. He screwed up his eyes.

'GET ME OUT OF HERE.' He roared.

Rattling. A click. The ceiling pulled away from him. Rain hit his face. But all he could find was darkness. The cold air gave him comfort, that shot of calm. He could feel them stare down at him, their shit eating grins.

'So he's awake.'

'What gave you that idea toots?' Ambrose growled in response. Something came away from his eyes. He blinked hard, as everything came into colour and ugly definition. A quick glance found him in the boot of a car. Further inspection found Dave and Randy smirking down at him.

'I always wondered if lunatics screamed the same as normal people.'

'We bite different. I'm not a lunatic. Got a shiny certificate to prove it.' He couldn't help it. He was programmed that way; in your face and not giving a shit. Seth and Roman had somehow found their way behind it, knew there was more to him than a short circuited brain and a razor tongue. Dave and Randy weren't getting the Dean Ambrose Deluxe package. They weren't even worth economy. Randy reached in. Dean, quick, caught his hand between his jaws, bit down so hard he felt knuckles pop and blood on his teeth. The viper eyed man howled in agony and Dave's own fist broke apart Dean's grip. He collapsed back down into the car, and cackled with red lips.

'I'm gonna kill him! I'm gonna fucking kill him.' Randy gripped his hand against his stomach, back turned as he tried to cope with the pain. 'He's an animal, we should throw him back in that bedlam we dragged him from. Wipe that fucking smirk off his face. Fucker. Fucking bastard.'

'Any problem?' new voice, old shit. The Game came into view, umbrella held over his head by his pet kiss ass, JBL. Man was a genius with numbers; man liked his cosy pay checks. He did anything the Game asked of him. Dean hated everything about him, from that stupid hat down to his ostrich skin boots.

Randy struggled to control himself and Dean shot the big boss a wide eyed grin. Showed off his stained whites.

'Nothing here officer, we're all dandy.'

He was ignored. The Game put a hand on Randy's shoulder, whispered something that Dean couldn't make out. But he saw the viper's head turn, those narrow eyes on him, that sickle mouth grin returning so sharp he felt a lapse in confidence.

'Sharing secrets with your girlfriend Hunter? Won't Stephanie be jealous?'

The Game finally turned to look down at him in his little prison. His godless eyes looked over the bound legs and body, the line of blood from the mouth and the pale face. All the while, he never stopped that smile.

'For someone so, inconvenienced, you've got a lot to say Ambrose.' He rubbed his chin and sucked his teeth. 'Makes a man wonder if you realize just what a predicament you're in. What we could do to you. I heard you scream Ambrose, you don't like being locked in a box do you? Too small. So enclosed. Must be hard to breathe in there.' He shook his head, mock sympathetically. 'Perhaps we should find you something smaller, something underground.'

He couldn't hide the terror which crept into his eyes. The shake that rippled through his body. The rain didn't feel half as cold as the mere thought of what the Game suggested.

'But don't worry. That will come later. And if I'm feeling kind, you won't even know you're there.' His face almost looked good humoured. But then it collapsed. 'I've had word, Ambrose. Of a friend of yours. Seems Roman's just too big a man to hide. I have people Ambrose. They're hunting him now. You'll have company soon.'

'You touch him, you fucking hurt him I'll rip your entrails through your throat. You hear me Hunter? Touch one strand of that beautiful fucking mane, and all you'll know is my arm clawing your heart out. I'll destroy you. And I'll enjoy it. Every second. I'll love the feel of your fat, black, un-beating heart as I crush it. It'll be delicious. So fucking delicious.' Dean kicked at the side of the boot, struggled in his bonds.

'Did you hear that gentlemen? I believe that was a threat on my life.' The Game turned to look at JBL. 'Don't you think so?'

'Yes sir. It was sir. Couldn't have heard a more blatant one in my life! He's a lunatic! Should be locked up.'

The Game nodded slowly, seemingly to like the idea.

'I'll have my fun Ambrose. You'll give me what I want to know. But first, there's somewhere special I think we should visit. Somewhere you might remember,' he tapped the side of his face and then leaned forward, his tie slipped from his jacket and stroked Dean's face. 'Somewhere, where you have old friends. I wonder if they've still got your old room.'

Dean turned his head. Bit down onto the tie and manically started to chomp, chewing it down, pulling the Game closer, closer. He came so close to biting that smirk right off. What satisfaction he could have had. But JBL had to ruin his fun. He managed to snip the thing right off the Game's throat, who breathing heavily, enraged, rammed the thing as hard as he could into Dean's jaws.

'Take him to St. Jude's. I want him on a fucking gurney. I want him lobotomized. Anything I want we can have from his brothers when I get my hands on them. I want this fucking lunatic _destroyed_.' He turned on his heel and marched away.

Dean laughed as the rain and the sky disappeared, and his world slammed shut.


	7. Partners In Crime

**((wow! Over four hundred views! Thank you everyone for taking the time to investigate my little story, I intend to try and properly develop it into something bigger so watch this space! Please continue to let me know what you think!))**

**INTERSTATE HIGHWAY 84**

'What did you steal from him?' she'd sat there, and never interrupted him. The occasional shiver would roll down her body from his words. When he'd told her about what they'd done to his back, concern flashed through her eyes. This Renee girl, she was something else, because rather than ask him why any of it had happened, she wanted to know what the catalyst was.

Roman didn't answer her. He'd rubbed his hands feverishly and now they felt red raw. There were some things he would have to keep from her. If she knew what they'd done, he knew she would be in danger too. Who was he kidding? He'd pretty much pulled her headlong into their mess. But if he could keep her away from it all, never see her again, she could be safe. The whole time they'd been sat there, he could hear the engine running, and now finally, he reached over her, and pulled the key from the ignition. He'd have to take her home, he could hardly drag her all the way to Kennedy. He'd have enough trouble trying to keep himself safe, let alone her. She looked at him with those eyes and he found himself unable to meet her. She wanted answers, and he just couldn't give them to her.

'Ok Roman. Don't tell me. I understand. This has nothing to do with me right? What is it with men and their stupid crusades? With their 'oh no, the woman can't get involved, she might come to harm or do something stupid' attitudes. Well I'm not going to sit here and forget about tonight. Do you think Mr Cesaro will? I damn near dented that pretty face of his and I don't think he's going to forgive me in a hurry. Shawn too. I can see it in your face you want to get rid of me. Well tough luck. I'm staying with you. If only to make sure your sorry ass doesn't get killed. You may be pretty Roman, but you're missing brain cells.'

'S'where your mate kicked me in the head.' he muttered. She was wilful. Any other time he might have thought it an attractive trait, but now he didn't need it. Because she was right, he wasn't the smartest. That had always been Seth. He'd been the one to plan the attacks and the strategy. Even Dean came up with explosive ideas when they needed them. Roman was the executioner. He made things happen. The one time he'd tried to plan something without their interference, they found themselves outnumbered eleven to one. It hadn't been quick, and it hadn't been pretty. Renee had a sharp tongue he knew Dean would fancy in a heartbeat. But he knew from her actions at the diner, she was smart. She wasn't complacent. The diner hadn't been what she wanted to do with her life, but then he doubted joining three rogues on the run was high on the bucket list. 'If you stay with me Renee, chances are you won't see next week the way things are going for us.'

She gave him a very small smile, and patted his arm. 'Working at Ma's for five years almost drove me mad. In the past couple of hours, I felt alive. In a lot of danger, but alive. I want to carry on feeling that. Even if it's not for long. I trust you Roman, and I thank you for your honesty so far. I think you're a good man and your brothers are good men too. I want to help you.'

He was very quickly beginning to wonder if calling her smart had been a grave mistake. Perhaps she was a psycho bitch who got off on danger. He really would have to introduce her to Dean at some point. If he ever found him. They'd wasted so much time sitting there. His tired eyes caught sight of the watch on her wrist. Morning was only hours away. He had to get to Dean...or he had to return to Seth. A thought struck him, small, maybe even insignificant, but it was one that grabbed his tongue before he could stop it.

'Do you know how to look after sick people?'

'Define sick.'

'Shaking, vomiting, possibly dying.'

'As well as the next person I suppose, my mum was a nurse. She taught me a few things. But I don't know if -,'

'Do you think you could keep someone alive until help arrives?'

'Roman you're asking a lot of me.'

'I know. I know, but Seth doesn't have long. He needs someone to help him and I don't know how. Dean's the one who knows backstreet doctors; I have to track him down in Kennedy. If you could keep watch over Seth, do what you can to keep him going, it might buy me some more time.' the hand that was on his arm, squeezed. She didn't know him. She could have so easily said no. But she swallowed and nodded.

'I guess I'll do what I can. But what happens if someone finds us?'

'You hide. You both hide and you do everything you can to make sure they don't.' His eyes flicked out to the road as a car cruised past, but it didn't stop. 'If they do Renee, I can't say what will happen.'

She shuddered, 'I suppose I did say you were stuck with me. Where is he?'

'Warehouse 13 in Harrison, the door will be locked but you should be able -,'

'Oh don't worry about that! My mama didn't raise a fool Roman,' she pulled a bobby pin from her blond hair. 'Our old porch door used to chew up keys, so we had to improvise.' She gave him a beaming smile. She really was an attractive young woman. Any other time... 'But what about you? If I take the truck to Harrison, how are you going to get to Kennedy? Hitch a lift? Somehow I don't think so.'

'There was a bike back at the diner. I could make my way on that.'

'Don't be stupid. In this?' she gestured out to the ongoing rain. It seemed to have subsided a little and they hadn't been interrupted by thunder recently. Perhaps it was moving off. The abrupt drum blast that light up the sky proved otherwise.

'Well what do you recommend huh?' he was starting to get frustrated. Anything he suggested she was shooting down without so much as a bat of those stupidly long eye lashes. He could practically see the cogs working in that head of hers. 'Because I don't see a whole lot of options right now.'

'You could...no it's too risky.'

'What?'

'If he's still there...you could stow away in the back of Mr Cesaro's car. He'll probably head straight into Kennedy to talk to his boss man...if you were quick...'

It was a fucking suicidal plan.

But he didn't have a better, less dangerous one.

'So back to the diner?'

'I guess so...' she looked a little unsure. 'Roman are you sure about this?'

'Well my idea sucked and nothing better has been offered. We don't have time to sit here and come up with something better. My brother is sick. He needs help. That's all the justification I need to jump into enemy territory. Besides, it's a smart plan, no one will be alerted if Cesaro is the one who pulls on up. It just might make it a little easier to avoid detection.' He looked down at the hand that held him, and took it in his own, shaking it gently.

'Looks like we're partners in crime miss Renee.'

She chuckled. 'Won't my mother be proud?'

Roman handed her back the truck keys. He was pretty damn sure he'd just lost his mind agreeing to all of this, but he didn't have a choice anymore. She'd taken it all out of his hands. She said he trusted him. He was going to have to learn to do the same pretty fucking quick. The truck rumbled to life. He had to hope Cesaro was still there, and he was in a co-operative mood, otherwise this plan would end bloody, before it had even begun.


	8. Somewhere Safe

**((and within on chapter, we jump to nearly six hundred! This is fantastic! Thank you everyone for your continued support! I'd love to know what you all think of what's happened so far!))**

**HARRISON**

The door swung against its hinges. Wind screamed through, sought out every corner of the warehouse and froze life. Rain stepped in and tattooed the floor with damp. He could see, somehow, through the tiniest of gaps between the unmarked crates. His legs felt numb, useless. There was no way of hiding someone had been there, even now, the last trails of smoke licked over the edge of the old bin. That blanket he'd abandoned. He'd sealed his own fate, if they found him. He didn't have the energy for cat and mouse. That doorway was empty. No one stepped through. The shadows who'd played him had left the windows. He was sure he could feel his own ribs rattle with every unsteady breath. He spied looks as best he could. His brain felt constricted, he felt like he didn't want to wait for this demise. Something had to give. Something had to break. He closed his eyes, his head against the crate, head tilted toward the ceiling. He didn't have the strength.

If he tried, he could see his old apartment. He could remember the luxury, the warmth as he lay in his own bed. How he could rise when he wanted and not when something terrible was going to happen. He could remember the money coming in for every job they did. He missed the safety. Perhaps he could stop the pain, stop time if he willed all the shit away. He was sick. He was tired. He'd had fucking enough. His body was shutting down and he fucking hated himself for it. He could have fallen into the deepest of sleeps once again and locked himself away, comatose and he wasn't sure he'd miss life. It wasn't fun anymore. He didn't get that buzz from defying the Game like he first had. Maybe he'd had selfish reasons for abandoning his brothers the first time. But his guilt, his weakness and that damn noble heart had brought him to his knees once again. If only he could cut himself to pieces and throw a set to that howling wind. But which would he chose to keep? The good, or the bad?

Seth shivered. His eyes opened. Realizing he'd fallen asleep again, he panicked. Turned and looked through the gap as best he could.

The door had closed.

His heart hammered. Shit. Shit! His body rolled against the crate behind him. The silence was deafening and his own breathing gave him away. He tried to hear, listen for signs of movement, but the rain defied him. His old boots were thin on the heel, quiet to move on. But Roman had said to him to hide, not to confront. But he didn't know if hiding was safe, was anywhere in this man trap safe? He couldn't stop his body shaking, the ice that crawled through those heavy veins. He'd been the fastest of them all once. He'd been an aerial genius. He hated the ground. He was used to the heights, to the rooftops and the skylines. Not stuck somewhere so low.

Half dizzy and risking it all, he turned and looked up at the crates. If he could, if he could climb them, he'd be able to see more, know who was hunting him, if anyone was beyond his own paranoia. Yes. That was what he had to do. His hands scraped that blonde and brown hair behind his ears. His mouth tasted of vomit as he stood, feet unsteady and almost tumbled through the crates, but he clung on. He'd have to move fast. He somehow managed to get a foot and arms up. His arms trembled and he cursed just how weak he felt. The first crate down, he was already several feet from the floor, reaching for the next when he had to stop.

'Seth...I know you're here Seth...'

His eyes widened in fear. No no no. Not here. Not now. He looked up. There was so far to go. He managed to clasp the edge of the next crate, strained and pulled. His lungs heart and he found himself unable to go any further. But he couldn't dull his breathing. His pulse which throbbed through the crates, that shook his entire being.

'We found Dean Seth...'

'No.' He couldn't stop himself, quiet as it was. He could be bluffing. Dean was so good at staying out of sight, but he took chances...had they really found him? This was all his fault. This was all his fucking fault. He swallowed down his guilt. The first footsteps. They belonged to a giant. He knew them, knew the man they belonged to. The demon that walked the earth. He was sure fire burned the ground he trod. He knew what came with him. He knew what it had taken to defeat him before. He remembered their defiance and knew there would be nothing holding him back. No love lost. Nothing to make it easier.

'We're taking him somewhere safe, somewhere he can't hurt himself or anyone else Seth. Do you remember where? Of course you do. You were the one who took him away in the first place. Do you remember Seth?'

He licked his dry lips. Of course he remembered. How he'd been when he found him, trussed up in some straitjacket, alone in a room, sweat down his face, body bruised, feral and untrusting. It had taken some time, so much trust to build...Dean had broken when he betrayed him. He'd told him he'd loved him. Seth closed his eyes, could feel his grip slipping as dizziness caught him again. He had to hold on. He had to get higher. Had to stay out of sight. He had to, he had to. Thunder snapped him to life. Seth shook his head, tried to throw the confusion away. Kane was just trying to get into his head. Trying to get him to give the game away. He couldn't let it work. He couldn't. He gritted his teeth and somehow, managed to pull himself up once again. He only had a narrow ledge to stand on, and if he lost his balance...

'The Game wants him lobotomized. Take away what little bit of sanity he still has. I'm sure Mr Regal will be more than happy to end his misery. Don't you think?'

Seth froze. The footsteps were so close. Just the other side of the crates he was hiding behind. He could feel something rise in his throat; that urge to vomit burning his mouth like acid. He could almost see those eyes. He could almost hear the smirk. How high up was he? High enough. If he fell...

'I've been told to come and get you Seth. You can hide all you want, but I will find you Seth, I'll always find you.'

The footsteps stopped. Kane knew. He fucking knew and Seth didn't know how but the demon had always had a second sense, like he could hear the blood moving through your veins, like it was the most delicious thing in the world to him. The misery, the pain and the fear fed him. He was afraid of him. He always had been, and now, Seth braced himself against the crate he hid behind. There were a couple on top. They could have had anything in them. He started to push, he pushed and pushed with what little strength he still had. He could feel consciousness ebbing with the effort. There was the sound of wood shunting along wood. It gave way.

Seth collapsed in the space left. He wearily crawled forward, hands on the edge and peered over. Boxes were smashed, wood was strewn everywhere. Something precious broken there, something bent to the left. Lightning flashed through the windows and Seth realized, to his horror, no Kane.

'Hello Seth...'


	9. A Night Of Firsts

**((I have a very busy weekend ahead of me, so whilst I will try to update every day, if I don't manage to, please don't hate me! I'll make it up to you, promise!))**

**MAMA'S DINER**

He almost felt reluctant to let her have the truck. He'd grown attached to it in their rogue travels. It may have conked out at the worst of times, guzzled their money away and been more noticeable than they needed, but it had served them well. Perhaps if all went well, he'd meet Jesse James' truck once again. He almost felt like he needed to name it. But maybe that was taking things too far; besides, Dean was the one in the group who always christened things. Whether it was that old fork he seemed to carry with him wherever he went, (Ol' Rusty) or that flak jacket he'd taken as his own (Sheila) hell, he'd ever decided that Roman's right hook had to be named a Superman punch. He missed that. The stupid things. Because they actually mattered to Roman, those simple asides, the in jokes, the endless stories of their misadventures. It made everything they'd done important, if they could look at it and smile.

Renee's eyes were focused. There was something inside her, like now he'd accepted that he couldn't force her to become a bystander, she'd fallen in love with this notion of being defiant. With fighting back against the system that had beaten people she didn't know. This wasn't her battle until he'd walked in, but it was like she'd been waiting for an excuse to pick up arms and fight. She didn't have their scars, but she had a spirit he recognized. Who would have thought that someone like her would be hiding away in somewhere like Mama's. Perhaps there were others, hiding away in dead end jobs and street corners, just waiting for a reason.

The diner was coming up. He could see that neon sign. It almost burned his eyes it flashed so brightly through the storm. It didn't want to be ignored. His gut steeled himself for what he knew he had to do. This wasn't anything. It was nothing. Just routine. The less he thought about it, the less could go wrong. He knew that he should just fall into that state, the unearthly calm that possessed him when he had to defend, to fight. Shawn had caught him off guard, panicked. It wouldn't happen again.

The truck slowed. There – Cesaro's Cadillac. In the light it would have been the sort of car to make people stop and stare. Vintage, red and white, to most it would have been a sexy car. In the rain it just looked sad. Its big rear end meant there would be plenty of room for Roman's bulk. He just had to get there in the first place.

'Shit there they are.' Renee hissed. In the window, the two were sat in one of the booths. It almost satisfied him a little to see that Cesaro held an ice bundle to his cheek. He looked pissed off. Good. Shawn looked sorry for himself. 'I almost feel bad about hurting Shawn...' she muttered. 'He's a gentle old guy really.'

'Yeah, he was ever so gentle when he tried to kick my head in.' Roman retorted. She glared at him, her lips pressed in a thin line, but she didn't dignify him with an answer. She knew he was right. Her silence said everything. Roman's hand was on the door handle. Chances of getting hit out in this were fucking miniscule, but he wasn't about to take his chances. He pulled his hood up, and shot a quick glance at Renee. 'Remember, there are some old supplies in the box in the back seats. Do what you can for him. As soon as I find Dean, I'll come for you.'

'What if something happens to you? What do I do then?' she bit her lip. 'Do I try and get him to a hospital?'

Roman paused, hand drew away from the door, 'All the hospitals in the region are controlled by the Game and his lackies. Seth's too recognizable...have you got anywhere safe you could take him? Somewhere warm?'

'I could take him back to my place, it's twenty minutes outside Harrison, out of the way. I mean I don't know what Lillian would think...she'd have to deal.'

'Lillian?'

'My cat. She likes to be the centre of attention, I've never brought a man back before.'

'Well tonight seems to be a night of firsts. If I'm not back by sundown tomorrow, or if something happens, take him away. I'll try and find you.'

Renee pulled a pen and her order pad from her apron and lent against the wheel as she scribbled. She sniffed and pulled the paper away, handed it over to him.

'This is my address, and my number. If you can't make it, let me know, ok? Keep me posted, I don't want to be in the dark. Understand?'

Roman chuckled to himself, a hint of a smile under that hood as he took the slip and pushed it into his pocket. 'Yes Ma'am.'

He opened the door and made to get out, when he felt something pull him back, a glance found that manicured hand on his arm, fingers clutched in the fabric of his sleeve.

'Roman?'

'Renee?'

'Be careful.'

He nodded deeply, 'You too,' he clambered out and into the darkness and the wet. The door slammed harder than he meant, and he moved back into the shadows of the nearby trees, eyes on the lights in the diner. The truck moved off, and he was alone once again. He was almost becoming used to the endless deluge. The damp was an odd comfort, heavy and skin tight. He kept his gaze low, tried to stay out of range. Nothing coming along the roads; the outside lights shone across the highway, and he knew this would be the one time he would be completely in the open. If they so much as caught him out of the corner of their crooked eyes, he would be done and dusted. Only a fool returned to the scene of the crime. Shawn was getting up, heading toward the counter. Cesaro's eyes went after him and Roman took his chance. The cold was numbing, made him slow but he moved silently, across one lane, another, barrier, lane, lane. He found himself at the edge of the garage. The lights were dull, the dry patches almost looked wrong where they nestled under the gas. There – that lad who'd filled up the truck for him. He stood up but Roman, crouched by the neon sign, put a finger to his lips and shook his head.

He seemed to get the message. Slowly he sat down again, a confused look on his face. This wicked game he was playing, he couldn't let anyone else get involved, get hurt. This kid, he was innocent in all of this. Roman gave him a sympathetic smile, small, barely there, but the lad seemed to see it. He would apologize to him perhaps, years from now, if they ever crossed paths again.

The Cadillac sat over two spaces, because it seemed that in everything he did, Cesaro was a greedy bastard. It was just to the left of the window where Cesaro sat, boot out in Roman's direction. He'd be less noticed if he was hidden completely out of sight. If he was in the back seat there was always a chance he could be spotted. But how to get in? He followed the two men's movements. Shawn had returned, in his hand he held a basket of chicken and fries. Seemed he ate when he was nervous. It caused a grin to crease the corner of his mouth. The night they'd turned against Kane, Seth had near eaten three people's worth of fried chicken, and even snagged Dean's leftovers. How times had changed...

Thunder. It seemed like it was beginning to drift away, but it's lightning gave him short cover. He felt exposed as he darted out from his hiding place, and skidded to a halt, and down to his knees next to the back of Cesaro's car. His head peeped through the windows and saw Cesaro, but he was too distracted. Shawn must have had terrible table manners because Cesaro looked disgusted. That was good. Roman's hand ran over the side of the paint work. Perhaps next time, this would be his ride. He'd filch it out from under Cesaro's nose, when Seth's clever hands worked in their favour again. He moved round to the back. How to unlock the boot? Keys. He needed the fucking keys. Unless some luck was on his side and it wasn't locked. No. No fucking luck for Roman Reigns.

'Shit.' He hissed. Renee's plan was going downhill fucking quick. The lad was looking at him odd and Roman knew his time could have just run out. Cesaro was heading for the exit. Trying not to be seen, Roman crouched as low as his bulk would allow, but as he did, his shoulder knocked hard against the boot. It seemed even vintage cars could have extremely sensitive alarms. It blared and screamed and Roman's heart sucker punched his ribs in panic. Where to go? Where could he fucking hide? His put his hands over his head, almost awaiting the inevitable punches that were coming.

'What's going on out here?' footsteps crunched closer, closer...

'Sorry Mr Cesaro, all my fault. I thought I saw one of the windows open, must have hit against the door as I checked. Sorry sir.'

Roman opened his eyes in shock, and found the young gas attendant standing next to the car, waving Cesaro away. The Swiss man looked at him suspiciously.

'And was it?'

'Yes sir.'

'Close it then.'

The attendant caught something in his hand that rattled; music to Roman's ears. Cesaro turned on his heel and stalked back into the diner. He couldn't believe his luck, and stared open mouthed at the lad who threw and caught the keys. He looked down at Roman and winked.

'Well what do ya know, think I might be of some use to you sir.'

'How...why are you helping me?'

'You were nice to me earlier. People don't often notice I exist. All I ever ask for is a few words, a little attention, you gave me that, and a real good tip. Cesaro? Whenever he rolls in he treats me like shit, I don't know where you're up to, but if it's something to screw with that ass, I'll help anyway I can.'

He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. First a waitress, now a gas attendant, did these people just feel sorry for him? What was it that was drawing them to him? He felt compelled to know who this kid was, to thank him, but before he could the kid's eyes snapped to the window.

'Hurry, he's coming back.'

He unlocked the car, got in the seat and jacked the trunk. Roman caught it before it could open enough to be noticed, and managed to slither inside. At least it was clean. Everything smelled like it had come straight out of a carpet shop. Roman wrinkled his nose. He heard as the window scrolled down and then up.

'All done Mr Cesaro.' The kid opened the door and got out. 'Real nice car you got. She old?'

''53, Eldorado.' Came the proud answer. Roman suddenly heard the boot click shut. It sounded as if someone were leaning on it.

'Wow...one of the prettiest I've seen. You've kept her prime sir.'

'Beautiful things should be looked after. Like myself.' Roman grimaced at how much the bastard loved himself. He felt as the door opened, weight took the car down, and the door shut once again. There was a beautiful rumble as the engine started. He felt his stomach knot a little. Here we fucking go...


	10. BONUS CHAPTER

**(( I'm so grateful to everyone who has followed this story so far! I apologize if this chapter is a little short, I don't have much time, but I knew I had to post something! Please consider this a BONUS CHAPTER as a thank you from me! ))**

_**BONUS CHAPTER**_

**KENNEDY**

_His children ran round his feet, smiling, laughing as they played. Their joy was matched in his eyes as he watched, and tried not to stand on them. They were growing so fast, beautiful like their mother, smart like him. Already they were showing signs of aggression, of a charisma and strategic prowess that they'd subtly tried to instil. The eldest held her ribbons up high, they trailed from her fingers, but she knew, because her sisters were shorter, they wouldn't be able to grab a hold. If they were clever, they'd stand on their tip toes, and their fingers would brush the ends. She knew that she would win this game, because the simple matter was she was physically superior, and recognized the weaknesses and flaws in her little sisters' size. It was simple. But it was there. _

_The pride he felt burned. It shamed him to think he had to raise them in a world that couldn't appreciate that there were alphas, and there were omegas. To think, that for all the good he did in trying to maintain a balance between the two, there were those who opposed the structure, the order. It had been the same way for centuries. Those at the top of the hierarchy bred and ruled well. At the bottom were the weak, the rogues who tried to conform but couldn't take the pressure, who wanted change. They snapped and nipped, they made nuisances of themselves, wanting to steal away the honour and the privilege earned in blood, of those who had risen to the top. Wolves and mutts didn't belong in the same pack. Mutts, had to go._

_Three had proven too wild. He'd done his best to tame them, make them see that the way of authority and leadership was what was best. That they should be united with some common goal, for an ordered and controlled society. He'd given them glimpses of the rewards of being betas and gammas, that they could have their ways, they could have their vices, all as long as they answered to him. He could over look the dangers they posed, as long as he could use their strengths. He offered them the safe way. He'd offered them the easy way; and they'd snapped those mangy jaws down on the hand that fed._

_He'd been fair. He'd been kind._

_They were fools to mistake his kindness for weakness. They'd taken something from him. But like those ribbons that trailed through the air, he had the meat to drip in front of their mouths. He'd hold it high, out of their reach, keep them slobbering and trying, until they were worn down and beaten. He'd made his move and snatched power from their fingertips. Now it was their turn. He watched as the eldest stopped their play and allowed her sisters the gift of ribbons. She showed mercy, pity. He would show it too, he would give them a chance, one choice to make. They could have their rewards, their safety. But one would not. One would lose everything. _

_Who would it be?_


	11. The Prodigal Son

**((Ok so I've been permitted a little more time today, so here's our next chapter for you!))**

**KENNEDY**

He knew these halls. He'd stumbled along them, half blind and mad. They'd pinned him against them, forced his face so hard against the white than he'd almost been thrown through. They'd dragged him screaming and spitting against those tiles by hair and bonds. Confused and beaten, scared and filled to the brim with supreme hatred and loathing; they locked him up, locked him away from the world. It was a night like this they'd brought him here the first time, when they'd found him on the streets.

Now, they dragged him on his knees, hair knotted in fingers, his arms pinned behind him. He screamed and fought, he jerked his arms and thrashed. They laughed at his efforts. Everything felt like it was spiralling. He couldn't see straight. People in white stood aside and watched. They didn't try and help. He tried to shout at them, but it was like they couldn't hear him. They ignored his cries. Trained not to hear the pleas. His wrists were still bound, bloody from where he'd tried to snap himself free. The Game's tie was still firmly stuffed half down his throat, no matter how he hacked, no matter how he spat and chewed. His head turned left and right. There, through doors and windows he could see rooms he'd met before. Ghosts watched him. Skinny people in their gowns with gormless faces and wild eyes. He knew them, he'd met them, they hadn't survived.

New inmates were held back by handlers. Ahead of him he saw someone waiting. Stood in his colours and his suit that smelled of blood, even when it was fresh clean. He knew that face, so very well. The hatred, the glee in that smile. His hands were folded on that blasted stick. The one which had broken ribs and bruised his back, broken his head. He found himself thrown to the floor in front of shiny black shoes that spat back his reflection. He could see the blood around his mouth from the first punch from Dave. He could see the swollen face and the madness in his own eyes.

'Well well well.' The smooth English accent cut through him like a scalpel. Easy, clean. 'After all this time, the prodigal son has found his way back home. I knew I'd see you again Dean. It was just a matter of time.'

He couldn't hide the fear that paled his face. Dean shook, fight gone. It only took a few words, from one man to destroy his will. He'd once sworn to take him down. He'd told him he'd haunt him to the end of his days, end his reign of suffering and control. He'd said so many things, the one time he'd succeeded in bringing him to his knees. It had been that act of pure violence and cruelty which had brought Seth to him, to take him away from the hell he'd been dragged back into. The devil smiled down at him, and Dean found himself being pulled to his knees, the handle of the cane knocked his chin up.

'What's wrong Dean? Aren't you pleased to see me? You promised you would again. But I think the tables have turned, don't you?'

'What do you want us to do with him Mr Regal?' Randy's voice. There was something in the way he asked which somehow, despite everything happening, caught Dean's attention. A subtle bile. Like he hated every single syllable he was trying hard not to spit. Randy hated being told what to do, to have people above him. If it profited him, he was a good little snake, slithering around and striking out of nowhere. He owed Regal nothing. Why respect a man, who meant nothing to you? Dean bucked against those who stilled him, growled at Regal, whose smirk grew. He pulled the cane back, and took Dean's jaw in a manicured hand. He tilted the head, this way and that, noted the injuries. He liked his toys to be new when he broke them.

'First, the infirmary. I want him cleaned up. Then, my office. Mr Ambrose and I have a lot to catch up on, I'm sure.' A finger stroked along Dean's jaw, who jerked away from the touch. 'Yes...If you would, please gentlemen, my staff can handle him.'

He was released, but seconds later, white uniforms came forward and took a stronger hold of him, one hand on the back of his neck. They took him down more corridors, a maze he knew like a roach knew the hollows of a tree. He just let them take him. He had to conserve his strength. If Regal hadn't changed, he knew it would take everything he had to survive. Because he had to, yes he had to. If he didn't he'd lost, he would submit and the Game would have been right all along. Dean's weakness was his fears. He knew. He knew. Oh he fucking knew.

White. White. All fucking white. It was sterile and the same. The staff had one face and blurred into one. He couldn't keep himself together, it felt like the insanity was seeping in through every pore. Being in this inferno, that's what made you mad. This place. These walls. Those people. Every single thing. He wasn't mad. He'd never been mad. Unhinged, perhaps, yes. He would give them that. No. Too generous. He'd give them nothing. They'd take whatever he had. Seth had told him he didn't think he was crazy. Roman told him he wasn't mad.

His brothers knew him best.

He didn't deserve to be there. He didn't need to be there. They were trying to make him crazy. To give the game away, the Game wanted to win the game. All the games. Dean knew games. He'd played thousands. He knew how to win and how to lose.

His eyes glanced about, left right, left right, over there. A pair of eyes following him. She was sat in a chair, rocked back and forward but was still as anything when she saw him. Her muttering stopped. She made forward but was thrown back against the wall.

'Let me go! No, no! Let me go!'

He tried to see her straight...no...it couldn't be...but he was pulled by before he could even try to do anything. The infirmary doors swung and he went on through. Bright lights blinded him as they heaved him up onto the examination table. One of the restraint straps pulled over to hold him down. To protect him and them from him. Oh they had nothing to fear. He didn't want them. Bigger fish. So many big fat fish to fry, to fillet and to devour. It was these walls. Giving him ideas. He wanted his brothers, they made him calm. They made him sane.

'It's all alright Mr Ambrose. We'll just sort out that face of yours, and you'll be on your way. I must say though, I'm sorry to see you back here again.'

Dean's head rolled to the side, and he grunted softly through the tie. Disbelief. How could he still be here?

'Do you remember me, Mr Ambrose?'

A gentle nod. His heart felt like someone had a solid grip, and was crushing.

'I'm glad. At least they haven't taken everything from you...I thought you'd escaped here forever when that Mr Rollins came for you...' he shook his head, and glanced to the orderlies. 'You can leave now. I'll call for you when you're done.' Obediantly, and as one, they did, the door swung shut behind them. He moved and clicked the lock shut, then returned to Dean's side and pulled the tie from his aching jaws. 'Dean what happened?'

'Mick...Mick...I tried...I couldn't.'

'It's alright it's alright...we're going to have to get you out of here...' he made to undo the restrains, but Dean shook his head.

'Stop. If I escape from here, they'll know about you...how you helped me the first time, everything. They can't know about you Mick. They'll lock you up in here too.'

Mick laughed. He had a high, but soft voice. Like he'd taken helium and never quite recovered. He wasn't a small man, but was known for being indestructible. So many had tried. He'd found himself in a straitjacket, and had been so when Dean arrived, but somehow had found himself in the position of medic. He knew how to stitch his own wounds, so why not everyone elses? If he didn't want to be locked up forever, he'd work for Mr Regal. He'd taken it, and done his best to help the other inmates.

Dean had known him for years, but when they'd first met, he'd worn a different name, and had been known in the underground, as Cactus Jack.

'I lost my fear of that years ago. You don't belong here Dean.'

'There's no escaping for me this time Mick...the Game's given his orders. He wants me done.'

Mick's eyes widened. 'They can't do that. How can he justify that?'

'I got hungry and tried to eat his face.'

That drew a dark laugh. 'Dean...I can't let this happen.'

'My brothers...they'll find me.'

'Do they know you're here?'

'Mick, they don't know anything.' He looked up at his old friend desperately, his arms and hands numb beneath him. Imploring, begging, he owed this man so much, and Mick would never be in his debt. 'I need your help.'


	12. Dirty Deeds

**(( I can't believe we've made it to over a thousand views! A MASSIVE thank you to every single person who has stopped by to even glimpse my first ever fanfiction. I Really appreciate the support and all the kind comments that I've received. The story is really starting to form in my mind now, so watch this space!))**

**WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, HARRISON**

The rain had eased off as she pulled up. The air was bitterly cold and she wished she'd remembered to grab her jacket. Heating apparently wasn't a luxury the old truck had at its disposal. But in some strange way, as she hauled the handbrake into place, turned off lights and ignition, she missed that heavy rainfall. It had been the only consistent thing in this crazy crazy night. When she'd first turned up for work, she'd been resigned to a quiet shift, maybe a handful of drifters rolling on through. Sometimes it ended up with it just being her and Shawn making a whole batch of pancakes, coating them in syrup. They'd sit on the tables and turn the radio up. He'd told her before, on one of his dark nights, that the Game had bought up the place just so Shawn could have somewhere to go. They'd hired her to keep him company.

Now she'd seen a whole different side of the coin. The lonely old man had a violent, unpredictable side. When Cesaro had threatened her, he didn't even make a move to step in and help. She'd thought they were friends. But she knew now, that she'd been sadly mistaken. Renee held onto the keys in her lap, her finger ran over the notches and she stared out at the wall of the warehouse in front of her. She didn't know Roman, she didn't know his friends, but what she'd seen, and what he'd done...she felt like she'd stumbled upon something far bigger than she was ever meant for. But she would make herself fit. After everything she'd said to Roman, how she'd reprimanded him for even thinking of not including her...she couldn't back down now.

She had to prove she was strong. The goose bumps on her arms betrayed her. Renee swallowed and clutched the keys so hard she felt them cut into her hand. _Deep breaths girl. Just keep your cool_. All she was doing was going to look after a complete stranger's sick friend. No, he wasn't a stranger, not any more. She didn't know what to think, but she felt in her gut, that these were good men. Good men stuck, in a hellish situation. She nodded to herself, urging her hand to open the door. As she did, a memory struck her, and Renee looked over her shoulder into the back seats. Like he'd said, there was an old battered box. She grabbed its rusty metal handle and heaved it into the front. It weighed an absolute tonne. Roman said it had had supplies in – what kind? Heavy artillery? Were there machine guns hidden inside? She didn't open it.

Instead, she pulled down her rolled up sleeves, heaved open the door and threw herself into the elements. Her sodden uniform was instantly chilled through by the biting wind. Her cheeks flushed red and her hair tumbled around her. She shivered and cast her eyes around. At least she didn't have far to walk in this turbulence. The warehouse Roman had directed her to had an old peeling _13_ painted onto the side in black. She hurried toward it, not wanting to stay out in the cold any longer than she had to. But when she reached the door, her heart sank. Roman had told her that it would be locked. Instead, shattered, the padlock lay at the base of the door. She'd asked him what to do if they were found.

He hadn't said what protocol was if someone had found Seth before she did. Both hands clutched the handle of the box. It was so heavy and bashed against her legs. There would be bruises. But bruises could be nothing compared to what she would find inside...

Renee braced herself and shoved her weight against the door. It opened with a shunt. She almost stumbled but somehow managed to secure her footing, the box nearly overbalancing her. It was so dark. Renee pulled her cargo up into her arms and hugged it against her chest. Forget bruises, she carried it like this too long her breasts would be pancake flat.

'Hello?' she called. Nothing, but it made sense. Seth was hiding, sick. If she was as scared as she was sure he was right now, she knew her lips would be zipped. Her steps echoed as she made her way from the door. It was freezing. Nothing about it would help anyone who was unwell. They'd chosen the worst hideout ever. She would have at least found somewhere with central heating. She adjusted how she held the box when she stopped, and sniffed.

Smoke.

That couldn't be right...but she worked in a diner. She knew smoke. Shawn had a tendency to overdo most things at the beginning of the week. He'd somehow managed to burn eggs. It was a skill, and left her in no doubt that something was wrong. The warehouse seemed to be used for the storage of hundreds of massive wooden crates. They all looked the same, and something about them made her uneasy. Their anonymity somehow made them sinister, like shadows leaked through the slight gaps in the wood. But she knew they would be her shield. As quiet as she could, she used them as her cover, and edged toward the source of the smell.

As she drew closer, there was a dull red light. It flickered almost, as if a fire. Her face tingled in its unnatural glow, as if it were forcing itself under her skin, burning every pore. Her lips dried; her clothes too. There; just round that corner, that was where it was brightest. She swallowed and tried to prepare herself for what she was about to see. Renee glanced around.

The massive bulk that crouched reminded her of a bear. He was hunched over, as if feasting. The light seemed to almost come _off _him until she realized it was from whatever he crouched over. She thought he was talking, but nothing made sense. Where was Seth?

Then the screams began.

They curdled her blood and she pulled back, body flat against the crates, barely able to breathe. She clutched that box so tight she thought she might pass out. The agony...the pure exhausted agony punctured her very skull. She found herself sliding down to the ground, legs unable to hold her. Her courage was failing. What was she doing here? What did she think she could do? Roman had told her to hide. Well here she was, hiding. All the while, pain shook the entire warehouse. Renee looked down at the steel box. She rested it on her legs and undid the screws. The lid opened reluctantly. Inside was what you could expect, medical supplies, nutrition bars, but there was something else. Buried deep at the bottom, beneath a ragged old cloth, were some gloves. They were unlike nothing she'd ever seen before. Fingerless, they looked to be weighted, with heavy studs on the knuckles. She lifted them out, astounded by how heavy they were. You could easily break teeth, splinter bone and pummel someone senseless with them. Something was stitched on the backs of the hands, were words. One on the left. One on the right.

_Dirty Deeds_.

She almost laughed, but couldn't muster the sound. She held them in her hands, stared at the hell they could cause. The sound of another cry scrunched her eyes shut. She put the gloves to her face and tried to will herself away from all this. To go somewhere else.

'Stop! Stop!'

Stop. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop being so afraid. Stop being so selfish. Someone needed her. She'd promised Roman she'd help Seth in any way she could. Something possessed her as she looked down at the weapons of destruction in her hands. She slipped them onto her hands, strapped them shut at the wrist. She was a small woman, but she'd heaved potato sacks and helped drag ploughs. She was strong. She could be strong.

She wouldn't back down. Renee rose to her feet, and glanced back round to the light. The bear like man was gone, and there, laid out, bare-chested and bleeding, was a man. He was skinny, weak.

Seth.


	13. ZZ Highway

**(( Two chapters for today, as I was late getting the last one up, I thought I'd make it up to you by giving you a second! I hope you're still enjoying the story, and I really love writing these characters!))**

**CESARO'S CAR BOOT, INTERSTATE HIGHWAY 84**

He'd forgotten just how long the journey was to Kennedy. The city isolated itself completely from the rest of the world; carved out in a chunk of wilderness. The interstate trailed on for miles, and had become known as ZZ highway. So many people had been known to cause accidents because of falling asleep at the wheel. Roman felt stupidly powerless. The boot was cramped and he'd had to uncomfortably fold himself up. His head was scrunched against the side of the space and he couldn't help but disbelieve where he was. Heading in the right direction maybe, but completely in enemy territory.

Renee's idea had seemed like a good one at the time, but now he was beginning to wonder why he didn't just knock the bastard out and commandeer the vehicle. His body was beginning to cramp, his feet were dead and tingling. But still, he was dry. Ish. Cesaro had the heating on high, and Roman's clothes were beginning to lose their damp. He knew if he'd have been Dean, he'd be panicking. His years of incarceration in St. Jude's had left him with a crippling fear of physical restriction. It made sense for Roman to have a problem like that; after all, he was the biggest of all of them. But no. Years before the criminal underground and the Game's cruel hand had pulled him into the shit, he'd had a promising football career...being tackled by sometimes ten guys meant claustrophobia couldn't be in your physical make up. Of course he was afraid of some things. Everyone had their fears.

A fear of Antonio Cesaro's car boot for example, would be perfectly logical. He wanted to get out. It was almost degrading having to resort to this. But he couldn't be seen.

His hands were above his head, flat against the boot roof to stop his head smacking against it. Cesaro was a smooth driver, but it seemed the roads weren't feeling kind. The storm must have brought more debris onto the highway. The warning the gas station attendant had given him about the trees came back. What if they were still there and Cesaro had to stop? He'd have to cross that bridge when it came to it. Several somethings were rolling around and kept hitting into him. He took up most of the room. He lowered his hand and reached down to open one of the pockets on his black combats. He grasped the slender torch he always carried and pulled it free. It was a curious thing, something he'd found in the truck when they'd first taken it. Half torch, half glow stick. It worked for him, and he flicked it on. The boot was filled with a dull orange glow. A couple of seconds later, it brightened and Roman looked about him.

It seemed Cesaro had the same idea. A heavy duty torch was by his left leg, the sort you could knock out someone's lights with. A satchel was snug behind him, but unable to turn, he couldn't see what was inside. A blanket and towel, a coat. It was what you'd find in any car, and could have convinced you that Cesaro was a normal civilian.

But Roman knew that if he caught a glimpse of what was hidden inside that bag, the perception would alter completely. Cesaro's title of the King came with good reason. He carried a jewel hilted dagger, hidden at all times. No one knew where it really came from, he told a different story every time, right before it was used to kill or maim. Anyone who defied his code of conduct in the underground fight scene answered to the king.

They'd all been on the wrong side of people. He didn't want to find himself on the bad side of that knife. It was famed for shining almost as white as Cesaro's fucking teeth.

The car hit over a bump, Roman's torch tumbled from his hands and flashed off. Plunged into darkness once again, he folded his arms and tried to close his eyes. This journey would take forever, but it was worth it. Dean was at the end of this. But of course, getting into Kennedy was one thing, finding a man who never wanted to be found was quite another...


	14. What A Wonderful World

**(( so this is my longest chapter so far, but I think it's my favourite of those I have written, back to Dean for this one! Thank you all for your continued support, please let me know what you think, I appreciate all your comments!))**

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM **

You could pay and see the freaks in their cages. The people with a clean bill of health and silk ties could roll on up to Bedlam and peer inside through the glass, see what happened to the people they didn't like. With just a snap of their fingers, innocent lives were destroyed. Something in the walls could change your mind, and if you were sane before, when you left you were damaged goods. Perhaps it was all the white; white ceilings, white floors, doors, walls...the orderlies wore white. The medics did too. The scrubs the inmates were forced into were off colour, closer to grey. The only speck of darkness and colour wrapped into one was the man who ran it all. His suits were always black. His shoes were black. His fat, black heart matched his stained soul. But he always wore a blue shirt. What shade? He'd debated what to call it for years: Fat Cat Blue, Big Blue Cheese...it was so blue that it shot through your eyes and screwed your brain after all the blankness. He wanted to be remembered. He wanted to take the recognition of colour, that joyous thing, and beat it into submission. He would be centre of their senses.

He would be what they loved and loathed. The power he had over each and every single one was miserable. He'd found a few, a select handful who defied him, bit back and knocked his quiet order askew. Some cases were lost causes. Sometimes surgery was needed to rectify the problem. It was all for their own good, it was for the very best. Prohibited unless valid evidence was given, and all other procedures and medications tested and failed, it had become something of a...specialty of St. Jude's. Their intake of patients...the severity of their psychosis and the threat they posed...it seemed to be becoming more and more necessary to take risks to reduce the impact they could potentially have on the lives of others. They weren't destroyed per say, just, cured. That was all there was to it. Sometimes, the miracles lay in the manicured hands of the men who could sign a piece of paper. Some protested on their way for treatment, there was nothing wrong with them, but it was all in their heads. Afterward, there was nothing in those skulls at all. They were slow, sluggish, but calm and emotionless. Their problems thwarted all by a few cuts and scrapes by the people with manicured hands.

His office was like those nails; immaculate. Everything had its place, as it should. There was complete order, no chaos. Even the papers upon his desk were straight, equal distance apart and sorted by importance. The furniture was dark, polished and expensive. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. Nothing caught in the carpets. No cobwebs. There was no life. Even the calendar on the wall was just a chart with scribbles. No pictures. But there was something on that desk not normally found there: a sculpture. It was of the human head, a line drawn round where the back of the head could be lifted off to reveal the brain.

Mick had tried to come with him, but had been forced back into the prison of the infirmary. They'd shot him up whilst he'd been down. The cruellest of drugs, he'd found his own little world when trapped in its hold. Hooked, addicted, it was part of their cycle. It was how they turned the sane into their puppets. It was how they manipulated your limbs and your minds; how they made you thought, that _yes, yes, yes! _they were helping you after all. The puncture mark on the inside of his arm would heal over like the hundreds of others. They turned you into a junkie; then reasoned that it was all that kept you under control – how could you live in the outside world without their healing hands?

His head was a block of lead. Eyes had lolled as he'd been rolled onto his side. The zip ties which had bound him were clipped off, and replaced with the padded cuffs that were government approved. He would become one of the greys later. For now he had a meeting with a blue shirt.

They liked him better when he behaved. They'd remembered to hit him with the hardest dose. That the caged animal could only be forced to sleep with maximum pressure applied. They'd learned from last time. He'd mesmerized every single sedative they had on their pristine shelves. But for him, they used Ketamine. It was like floating, as if his brain had detached from his head and had moved off into a higher plane. It was like falling asleep with your eyes glued open. It was like falling from some great height, screaming your lungs out, and all you were hearing was peaceful silence. He couldn't hold himself up, but that was ok, because they did it for him. They took him along those oh so familiar halls. They talked to him too, but he was stuck in his endless landscape of horror and comfort. His comatose walkways and his psychosis halls. They made him worse to make him better. They played the Game, their twisted wonderland game.

They stopped in front of that door. It was the same colour as all the others; white white white. But it had fancy gold stencilled on the front so people knew it was Mr Regal's boudoir. They knocked on the door, one two.

'_Who's there?_' he mumbled.

His brain couldn't lose touch with his tongue. Even with a brick somehow lodged in that thick skull of his, they couldn't silence him completely. Their drugs and their treatments, they were temporary, his defiance was forever.

'Come in.'

The door was pushed open and Dean was juggled into the room, and sat down on the plain chair which faced the desk, hands behind the back, just in case. It kept him upright. His messed up hair and the stitches along his lip made him a state. A guest of the state, of the city, a special friend of the white walls. Mr Regal sat in his special leather chair, which span ((Dean knew that, he'd once wandered on in and made himself comfortable)), elbows on the desk, hands pressed together, fingertip to fingertip. Those glass eyes focused in on Dean, who couldn't even raise his head to stare on back.

'It's a terrible shame Dean, a terrible shame. I really thought we were making progress. But then you ran away...like a petulant child. I know your friend Mr Rollins was desperate to have you, but he could have asked. I might have said yes...but he didn't. He stole you from me. Well you're back with us now. It'll be alright again. We can make you better. Like we did last time.'

He stood from his desk, walked around to the side of Dean's chair, and grabbed the back in those crippling hands. He turned it easily, betraying the brutal strength he possessed. The body locked to the chair rocked, but settled, chin to chest. Regal's hands took that jaw as he bent down, feet flat on the floor. He handled him so gently, raised the head to see the face. He moved the messed hair from the eyes which could barely see. He touched the cheek, the stubble on his jaw.

'You always were my favourite monster Dean.' His voice was almost tender. The English rose he'd swallowed must have wilted years before – the gentleness didn't reach those eyes. Dean wanted to recoil from his touch. He wanted to scream, to lash out, throttle the Frankenstein in front of him, to watch the last drops of life drain from that face. Inside he felt like a child. Only a teen when he fell into the clutches of the asylum. Into the cold hands and the blunt nails of William Regal. It hadn't just been the insanity he'd escaped before. 'It seems...such a shame to ruin my greatest experiment...but I fear that you have signed your own doom.'

With one hand he reached across to the model on his desk. It was smooth, plastic. It probably felt more human than Regal himself did. He pulled off the skull and allowed Dean to see inside at the different coloured pieces of the brain.

'Hunter wants something Dean, and I am obliged to fulfil his request. This,' he pointed to the frontal lobe. 'This is the part of your brain, which controls your emotions. It's the insistent piece; it makes decisions and controls purposeful behaviour. This is the part of your brain Dean, which we want to fix.' He reached in and scooped the frontal lobe out, set the model on the floor and held the piece of brain in his two hands like it was an offering. 'If we sever the connections to this, then your violence, your dangerous behaviour and unpredictability will no longer be a problem. You'll no longer be thought of as psychotic. You'll be numbed, but inconsequential. Hunter thinks this will help, Dean. From my studies of you over the years, I can vouch that everything we've tried to do to help hasn't worked. Your escape has proved this to me, as has your violence toward my orderlies.' He shook his head, fingers closed round the brain, like he didn't quite want to let go. 'I never wanted it to come to this, we always had such fun together Dean, such fun...' he actually sounded regretful. Regal stood, and swiped the top piece of paper off his neat bundle on the desk, and held it up. 'This right here, is all I need to sign, for this to happen.'

Dean tugged uselessly against his restraints. Regal seemed to notice the sign of life and placed the paper down.

'I can stop this. If you want me to Dean. If you stay here, we can play forever. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Think of all the good times we had.'

His addled brain remembered all too well. The beatings, the 'therapies', the talks and the simulations; he'd never forgotten. He could see the look of childish glee in those glass eyes when he'd been strapped down for shocks, when he'd pushed the operator out the way so he could have his turn. He could remember when some of the females had been brought into his room, naked and humiliated to test whether his violence was attributed to a desire for sexual gratification. Regal had taunted those women, and declared Dean's insanity, when he'd broken free, and tried to kill him. That was what he remembered best. His favourite of the slideshow pictures that scrolled through his mind.

'Tell me Dean, tell me you'll stay here. You won' t run away again, and we'll have our fun every day.'

A toddler in a suit with an expensive smile; he'd started out as one of the people who'd paid to see the crazies. Like a little boy in a zoo, he'd grinned at them all, seen the tormented and hurt humans as something to poke and throw peanuts at. Hunter had made him head of this Bedlum, because of the fun to be had. The fun, every single day.

A slurred mumble slipped from Dean's lips. Regal, enthusiasm in his face moved forward, ear trustfully close to Dean's mouth.

'What was that Dean?'

'Go to hell.'

He lurched, teeth clamped down on the helix. Regal screamed and buckled, and his own movement and Dean's determined grit tore. His hand clamped over the side of his head and Dean spat the piece of ear onto that pristine carpet. Fury turned Regal's face blood red, the pain throbbed through the veins on his forehead. But all he could do, instead of rush for help, was grab a pen, and sign on the dotted line.

'You're finished Ambrose. You're done! I offered you a way out. You had your chance! Tomorrow night, this is all over Ambrose, _you're_ all over. Get him out of my sight!'

He was heaved away, a sloppy smile on his bloody lips at the sight before him. Maybe it was worth what was to come. Maybe he was doomed. But there was always a chance, there always had to be a chance. He'd have to put his faith in the man who'd helped him before. Mick Foley had saved his ass once; now it was the turn of Cactus Jack, to do it all over again.

'_and I think to myself...what a wonderful world...'_


	15. Here To Help

**WAREHOUSE 13, HARRISON**

Knowing that the bear like man could be anywhere, that she probably had less time than she needed, Renee inched out from behind the crates. Her eyes looked this way and that, head turned. Only when every direction she could think of was covered, twice, she dashed forwards. Her hands already hurt from the weighted gloves she'd strapped on for security, and she stumbled down to her knees next to the prone body on the floor. Her bare legs scrapped against the rough ground but she didn't care. The impossibly red glow seemed to be coming from an odd red heater of sorts, it was boiling to be next to, and the metal on the front set off that crimson light. The man next to her was barely breathing. His chest littered with deep formed bruises, his right hand, which lay on his chest was crippled. His fingers bent completely the wrong way. Black eye, split lip, he coughed and she was terrified he'd bring up blood.

'Seth?' she whispered. Her own gentle hand reached out and took the one that lay on the floor. She wrapped her fingers around it as well as she could, her other hand touched his bloody forehead. He had a handsome face beneath the beard that ravaged it, beneath the injuries, the sickness. Despite being right next to the heat, he still shivered. When she was little, Renee had become lost in a storm. When she was found, she was confused, unwell. Hypothermia had set in. She remembered her own symptoms. She could see them reflected in his face. 'Seth, my name is Renee, I'm here to help you...Roman sent me.'

At the mention of his friend's name, Seth's eyes weakly opened as much as they could. He didn't seem to see her too well, but his head turned a little in her direction. He tried to speak, but raw throated from his own screams, he struggled to summon the words. Renee glanced around them. She had to get him out of there. Everything was compromised. She'd have to move him, get him back to her place. At least then he'd be somewhere no one could hurt him. Her heart broke as he weakly squeezed her fingers.

'Roman...is Roman...alright?'

'Well if your friendly neighbourhood waitress hadn't been on the job then he'd probably be in the same state as you right now.' She tried to make him smile, but he didn't seem to have the strength. She stroked his forehead tenderly, tried to avoid the cuts and dark patches. 'Seth, the man, the one who was hurting you, where did he go?'

He took a breath in. It was shaky and seemed to pain him. Renee bit her lip, if his ribs were damaged moving him would be agony. But she couldn't just leave him here. Another glance around. Her heart was beginning to stutter. The longer they remained; their chances were slipping away with the winds which chilled the floor.

'Seth...we need to get you out of here. Can you move?'

He tried. He really did. His broken hand rested on his stomach and he bent his upper body. Renee moved to sit slightly behind him so he could support himself against her shoulder. As he did, she caught a glance at his back. She felt sick. Not one part of him had been spared. It terrified her to think what the monster was going to do to this poor man if she didn't help him escape. He grunted with effort and somehow made it onto his knees. She held onto him firmly. She knew her fingertips probably added to his agony but she had no choice. Softly softly, she tucked her head under his arm, and pulled. He was heavier than he looked. She braced her knees and somehow, with all her effort, she managed to get him onto his feet. He would freeze out there. Suddenly remembering the blanket in the supplies box, she started to ease him toward where she'd left it.

'That's it. Easy does it.'

He had a slight limp. She almost wanted to ask everything that had been done to him...but that would have to wait. Until they were in the comfort of her own home, they couldn't stop. They couldn't rest easily. If the monster came back, they were done for. This man was a warrior and he'd been destroyed. How on earth could she defend him? With some pimped up gloves she'd just so happened to find? No way. They managed to make it back into the shadows of the crates. The box was where she'd left it. Somehow, she managed to bend down and grab the handle. But she'd forgotten how heavy it was. Her hands couldn't take any more weight. Despair filled her and she knew she'd have to leave it behind. Her fingers felt around inside and somehow managed to tug the blanket free of everything else. With Seth's sluggish help, she managed to wrap it around his shoulders. A little warmth was better than nothing. The door was in sight. It seemed so much further away than it had before.

Struggling a little under his weight, Renee swallowed. She had to do this. Her eyes were never still, they flicked left and right, up, down, around. She couldn't take any risks. They'd both be doomed if she did. Seth's slow, uneasy steps, his groans of pain and shaking body scared her shitless. Roman had told her not to take him to a hospital, but she was only the _daughter_ of a nurse. There was only so much she could do, and she could tell that Seth required proper medical attention. She'd have to ring her Mom; she'd have to get all the advice she could. She could feel Seth's slow pulse. Everything was freaking her out. The way the wind seeped in through the gaps in the windows, the cold with skimmed her legs. The howls that shrieked all around. The warehouse was a personalised hell. A haunted house with everyone elses belongings tucked away.

Somehow, they made it to the door. Renee eased it open. Seth slipped. He fell to his hands and knees. He screamed. His broken hand bent and buckled. Renee felt her stomach turn. He shook as the wind licked his bruised skin. Eyes to Renee, no, past her. His face...fear. Renee didn't want to look. Her entire body quaked. Head turned. She found herself nose to chest with something, someone massive. He looked down at her through dead red eyes. The heat which rolled off him was intense. The monster in the dark. Renee stumbled back, landed down next to Seth. He tried to push himself in front of her.

Tried to protect her.

'Seth no!' one great hand came down through the air, and ceased the multi-coloured hair of the broken man. He was powerless to fight back as he was dragged forward, as he was _lifted_ from the ground. 'Leave him alone! He's suffered enough!'

The massive man laughed. A sound which seemed to come from hell itself. She pushed herself to her feet, slipping in the puddles and looked down at her gloved fists. Not knowing what she was doing, she dashed forward and swung her right fist upward towards the monsters face as best she could. She hardly nicked it, but the weight of the punch caught his jaw and he dropped Seth in surprise. The man landed hard, awkward. The monster bent a little and Renee took her chance. She swung again. This time she caught him right on the jaw, the swipe catching the nose too. There was a sickening crack, and a spurt of blood. The monster seemed surprised more than anything. Renee took advantage and heaved Seth up from the floor. Adrenaline running, she dragged him to the truck. The passenger side stuck. Again? Now? Renee grabbed the handle and heaved with all her might. The door suddenly sprung open.

'In Seth! Get in! Come on!' she shoved him from behind. He could hate her if he wanted. She'd beg forgiveness later for hurting him. As soon as he was in, she slammed the door shut. But the monster was waiting for her. Blood ran down the mask he wore, and he seemed to relish the taste. Renee cowered against the side of the truck. He was standing near the puddle she'd slipped in. With all the energy she had left, she crashed against him, shoved as hard as he could. But nothing. He was too big, too heavy. He caught her by the throat. Crushed slowly. He raised her up, smirked in her face. The driver's door suddenly smacked open, straight against the skull of the man. Seth, exhausted in the space left. The grip slacked, and with one final grunt of grit, Renee slammed both hands down on the ears of the monster. He fell to one knee, and Renee scrambled up into the drivers seat.

'We have to go. We have to go. We have to go.' She started the truck on up. A glance forward. He was standing in front of them. Renee didn't hesitate. She shoved the old banger into gear and slammed her foot down on the gas. They smacked into the monster so hard he was flung onto the bumper and rolled off onto the asphalt. She didn't look in the mirror to see if he was alright. She drove out of the warehouse district, and didn't look back.


	16. A Good Existance

**INTERSTATE HIGHWAY 84**

They'd stopped. He only knew because the car had come to such an abrupt halt that he'd been jolted from the uneasy sleep he'd slipped into. It meant one of three things, Cesaro had hit something, something had run out in front, or something was in the way. Roman's heart pounded as he heard the driver's door open. As it slammed, and just above the sound of the wind, he heard the Swiss man swear. Steps. They came closer, closer, around the side of the car. Heading to the boot. He pushed himself back as far as his bulk could manage, tried to hide. There was no hiding. As soon as the lid was popped he was found, and he was in trouble. What would he be coming for? The torch. The torch. Roman's booted foot tried to scramble for it. The lock on the boot clicked. The torch moved to his hand and he shoved it to the front of the space. His head locked to his chest, his hands plugged into his armpits. Skin hidden. Blackness. He had to be darkness.

He had to be nothing.

The boot opened. Roman was sure his heart stopped. He held his breathe. The wind picked up. His blessing, because Ceasaro didn't open the boot the whole way, instead, a hand appeared and felt around for the torch. It grasped it, and the fat gold rings on his fingers winked at Roman as he pulled it from the car. The lid touched down again, but didn't close completely. He heard the other man move away. He couldn't stay in the car. He didn't know how far away he was from Kennedy but, if he managed to get out and see how far it was, perhaps he'd have a chance of making it on foot, especially now that he could see the rain had stopped; for now. His breath clouded in front of him as he slinked his fingers between the gap and eased the lid open slowly. The wind near knocked his breath from his chest but he managed to clamber out. His boots hit the asphalt and he crouched low, moved to steal a look around the car. He could tell from the torch beams source Cesaro was several meters in front of him. There, blocking the road, as promised, and illuminated by the torch light, were the fallen trees. Big enough they couldn't be moved by hand, they crossed the entirety of the lanes, blocking off the route. The other side was clear, but there was no way of crossing the car over. He'd have turn back and detour miles.

Roman stood quietly. The rain may have eased, but it certainly hadn't stopped as tiny specks smudged against his face. He held up a hand to try and block it, russet eyes scanned the world beyond the trees, tried to find the outline of the city in the distance. No lightning now to highlight it for him. He might as well be in the darkest place on earth. But by chance, Cesaro flicked where the torch was directed, and landed the light briefly on a nearby sign, partially obstructed by the trees. Kennedy. He couldn't see how far away it was, and remembered his own light was still in the truck. He glanced down, but realized he'd closed it, without the keys, there was no getting back in.

'Shit.' He grumbled. Suddenly the torch beam swung. He ducked down just in time. Cesaro was coming back. He could hear the man talking, to himself? No. No a phone. He was shouting to be heard above the wind.

'I can't make it back! Trees are down. No sign of Reigns sir! I'm sure when he hears what will be happening to his friend he'll crawl out of the dirt. He'll be begging us to take him.'

His...friend...no. Dean.

They had Dean.

What was going to happen?

He craned his ears to listen, forgot him, leaned closer. The light bent to the floor.

'Yes, yes sir. I'll be there when I can. Who knows? I might have something else for you.'

The call ended, and Roman turned away, flattened himself against the back of the car. What was he going to do? Dean had promised he wouldn't be caught, but even he couldn't stay hidden forever. This was wrong. This was complicated. How could he help Seth if he couldn't get to Dean? How was he going to save his brothers if he was separate from both of them? He pushed his hands into his hair in frustration and let out a low roar. The wind plucked at his clothes. Irritated, angry. He didn't know what to do with himself. He couldn't just sit there. He would have to run to Kennedy...he had to do something. But what? His hands were on his face, ran over his cheeks and jaw, his mouth. A plan. He needed a plan.

'Mr Reigns I hope you realize you're in the way of my reversing this car.'

He stopped, and glanced up. Cesaro stood over him. But he didn't seem threatening in the slightest. In fact, he was smiling, a hand offered down to pull him up.

'You're a determined man Mr Reigns. To stow yourself into Kennedy is smart, but foolish.'

'Saves being dragged in as a prisoner.'

'I'm sure that almost certainly depends on your circumstances.'

Roman regarded the other man uneasily, his right hand was secured into a fist. Cesaro seemed to have noticed and took a smart step back, out of range. Few got up after meeting that right hook.

'Why aren't you surprised to see me? Aren't trying capture me?' his eyes were narrow. The standoff seemed to feel endless, and he couldn't distinguish what was going on in the eyes of Cesaro. He looked pleased with himself, but there was no violence there. No hatred. He looked so calm in the heart of it all.

'You are not my enemy, Mr Reigns.'

'Could have fooled me, especially back at the diner. You hurt that woman Cesaro, she had nothing to do with this, and yet you still kept her. Give one good reason I shouldn't knock you through the road.'

'I've never known you to say so much. You're normally so stoic. It must be the pressure of it all. One sick friend, one doomed for the operating table.'

His fist lowered, his eyes widened. 'What...how do you know about Seth? Operating...I don't understand.'

Cesaro leaned against the side of his car, and reached into his pocket, pulling free a shining silver box and a heavy set lighter. He set about pulling free a cigarette and sparking it up. He cupped his hands around to protect from the wind, but watched Roman the whole time. Smoke drifted between his fingers and he took a drag.

'Your friend, Ambrose, has been signed away by the state. Deemed insane and dangerous to the public, he's to be operated on tomorrow night; lobotomy. If they succeed, your friend won't know you from anyone else in the world. Such a shame.' He shrugged and tapped ash to the ground. 'That doesn't concern me. What does is the fact that I'm being wasted on errands. That beast, Lesnar, he's making his presence known, is nudging in on my fights whilst I'm relegated to make sure the retired aren't burning themselves flipping burgers. That, Mr Reigns, is my concern.'

He offered the cigarette case over to Roman who didn't even dignify movement.

'Things are changing in Kennedy since you and your Hounds have left town. The Game is bringing in all the security he can; the rebels are starting to fight back, now that you're not there to stop them.' the wind carried the smoke away faster than it was blown. Cesaro didn't even seem to notice the cold, the spots of rain. 'I liked things the way they were. I was left to my own devices. I made my money. People disappeared, people won. It was a good existence. I remember the times your cockroach of a friend survived the strongest people in those pits, the way he defied me. I wanted to destroy him, but I was fond of him. You find that the people you face are the ones who win you over, Mr Reigns.'

He'd been silent. Just watching, waiting for what was coming. He didn't trust this man, was hanging on the moment, knew that in only seconds it could switch completely, that his lights could be out, that he could be caught in a fight. He could only win when he knew it was coming. He had to stay on the very edge of it all. There was no leaning against that car, he didn't loosen his fist.

'I have a proposal for you, Mr Reigns.'

'Does it begin and end with me knocking you beyond those trees?'

'I should think not. But. I can get you into Kennedy, if you do something for me.'

'I'm not helping leeches like you.'

'That's a shame. Because I fear your Mr Ambrose won't do so well unless you do.'

Roman gritted his jaw.

'What do you want?'

Cesaro smiled and tapped the cigarette ash again. 'That's much better. It's only a favour. I'm sure it won't be too much for someone like you. I need something done, Mr Reigns. Here's what I need of you...'


	17. The Eternal Nightmare

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM, KENNEDY**

If Regal had had it his way, then Dean knew he would have been strapped down to a table and left to rot until the time came to play doctor. But that wasn't how things worked in St. Jude's. Ever since a riot had broken out during his first stay in the sanitarium ((which may or may not have been orchestrated by his good self; he'd been rather bored that day)) rules had been put into place that every 'patient' had to be given social time and exercise to try and quell any feeling of pressure and claustrophobia. In short, they didn't want the same thing to happen again. It was then that he'd found himself catching the attentions of Seth. He could remember that day, when the violence and the rebellion inside was a marvel to behold, there he'd been. Watching through a window. He'd been there for a different purpose, in the one look they'd shared, more had been said than words could express. A bond formed, a brotherhood begun. Dean had owed Seth everything.

He thought back now to when he'd found out he and Roman had been betrayed.

It had broken his heart. He'd loved Seth. When he and his brothers had been together, he'd been home. He'd done everything to try and thrash out the feelings which conflicted him, made him worse. He'd been so disconnected from everything and everyone for such a long time...he could remember hunting Seth down. The battles they'd endured. The things they'd done to one another. Seth had damn near killed him when he'd thrown his head through cinder blocks. It had been explained to him once, that the reason Seth had done it all, was to save them. The Game had captured him, given him a choice. He could either punish them, break them, or watch as they were tortured, murdered.

Dean knew, he'd died the day Seth had turned on them. It didn't make a fucking difference how the story went. And when he'd come crawling back, begging for forgiveness, trying to tell them his reasons, trying to show them that he was still Seth. It had been hard to understand. Hard to forgive. The words had never left Dean's mouth. As much as he'd tried to beat it out of himself, he still found that a piece of him was in the other man's clutches. To restore his own sanity, to keep himself together, he needed Seth. Roman too; without being together, they didn't work right. They didn't function.

He never forgave, he chose to forget.

No matter how bad things were, you could push them aside. Swim through the shit and ignore the smell if you tried hard enough. You could shove feelings and instinct aside to go with what you wanted. If you really fucking tried. But he couldn't knock back the memories which bubbled to the surface in this place. He stared up at the white wall in front of him. A blank space where any number of things could be written. You could see dull stains where blood and piss had been smeared against it days, weeks, years before. He could throw his own thoughts against it, a bloody canvas of beauty and carnage. Yes, yes, he could see it all, feel it all. What was happening, what they were going to do to him. He knew it.

There was a way out. There was always a way out. He should have expected sooner or later he'd find himself back in hell. After all, he'd flung himself into the mouth, just so his brothers could have a chance of purgatory. He sniffed, adjusted his arms a little. His hands were still hooked behind him by those padded restraints. The weight of them aggravated him. But they didn't bite like the ties had. Didn't draw blood. Behind him there was sound. People muttering, mumbling. Sanity disguised as madness. They did not know the psychs of the victims in these halls. Something half said, a few paranoid glances, those were enough to lock the door and tighten the straps on the special jacket that made you hug yourself. Oppose what was _true_ and you were the enemy. You were mad. There was nothing wrong with the world. Only the people who wanted change. Who knew what everything could be.

The walls made you talk. They took away your will, made your brain half white. Thought could travel and it would stop, observation stopped at the rainbow's end. A part of you sliced away without the need of a scalpel.

'Too fucking white.' He muttered. His head cocked to the side a little, eyes narrowed to inspect the slightest of cracks. It hadn't been there before. He knew this wall. Every inch. That was new. 'Where did you come from...'he pressed his nose closer, as if he were trying to push himself through to the other side through that anomaly. 'Where do you go...'

More sounds. Irritating fucking noises interrupting his thoughts. His fucking pretty thoughts.

'Keep it down!' he yelled and half turned. There were a dozen or so inmates huddled into the room. One or two played games in the corner, chess or chequers, nothing else to chose from. Some read books, upside down, inside out, right way round, backward, forward, middle to end, beginning to end, end first, ruining it for everyone. One quietly chewed the pages. Some did nothing as Dean did. Their vacuous stares burned holes in their surroundings. They were all new to his eyes. He felt something then. Hands. They slid around his waist. He felt a head rest against his the middle of his back. He could feel her pulse through her forehead, through the greys, her breath on the material.

'You came back.'

He could hear the tears in her voice. The broken heart that she had to swallow down. He stood there, let her hold him. His face tilted toward the ceiling; tried to forget what caused her mirth. He was the reason for the hurt. He knew some things, could never be forgiven. Could never be forgotten.

'Why did you come back, Dean?'

'I guess even I can't outrun the shit I've done.' He muttered. He looked down, saw how her hands knotted around his waist, locked into place. She didn't want to let go, just in case he escaped once again. It hurt. It really fucking hurt. She was still here, like Mick, she hadn't escaped the prison they'd all fallen into for their difference. How could she have survived so long? She'd been there even before his first stay. Didn't know the outside world anymore. What was there to see? Shit and chaos. But even that, that was so much better than those white walls. 'I'm sorry.'

'Why?'

'You were supposed to come with me.'

She didn't answer that. He could feel her hold tighten a little. Her head buried into the fabric. Her breathing was deep, as if trying to hold back years of sadness. She was trying to be strong. She'd been the first one to approach him. She'd been unafraid of his animalistic nature, she'd not backed down when he'd bitten her, spat and tried to hide away. She'd been patient, come closer, closer each time, until she could touch him, hold him, until the trust warmed. She protected him, pushed away the orderlies, she'd scream and shout for him. Then, he did the same for her. She gave him his courage back, changed him from beast to man. What he'd been in the days before, some creature in the dark, surviving off the streets, a caged animal waiting for its next fight...she'd helped him. Made him something more through her kindness, her loving heart. When Seth had come for him, he'd wanted her to come with him.

He'd failed her.

Couldn't find her in the madness.

'Regal took me away Dean. They knew. '

He let go of the breath it felt like he'd been holding. Hatred bubbled up inside his gut.

'What happened?'

She let go of him, and moved in front. Her hair was so much longer now than he'd remembered. Down to her waist, dark as a rooks wing.

'That doesn't matter. I heard what's going to happen to you Dean...I can't, we can't...it can't happen.'

'Hey,' he wanted to touch her, embrace her, let her know it was all alright. It wasn't. It was fucked. It was so fucking shit, he wanted to bury his head in that white wall. He was screaming inside, he was scared as fuck but he couldn't let them see. They were going to take him apart, fix him. Nothing was broken. Nothing was fucking broken and he didn't want them near him. He didn't want their hands on him. But in that moment, he wanted hers. 'Come on, look at me.'

Slowly, she raised her head. He saw those haunted eyes, lost, afraid, but that spark was still there; dulled, but just looking for a reason to ignite again.

'I'm getting out of this. All of this. I have friends. They're going to help me. Help us.'

'Us?'

'I'm not leaving you here again. You saved me once. It's time for me to return the favour.'

A tear crept from the corner of her eye, she pulled him against her, head against his chest, his chin on her crown. Behind, he felt her hands feel for his, and he curled his fingers around her slender digits.

'We're getting out of here AJ.' He glanced about the room, their own personal hell. The devil's playground. The door which lead into it had a small window, and he could see Satan's own face peering through at him, them. Some sick smirk, some scheme in those wicked eyes. Already things were falling apart and nothing had been set in stone. He felt his gut wrench, but he pushed his face into her hair. 'I promise.'


	18. My House

**ADAMS**

It was only a short drive from Harrison to the small town of Adams, but with her constant gazes over to the bloody and broken man next to her, if felt like an age. He'd barely taken a breath since they'd escaped that...that monster. She could hardly call him a man, she'd never seen a human that big before, that _demonic_. His sheer bulk had reminded her of an animal, of when the winter snows hit back home, her paps dressed up in the warms and thick coats, because even when the cold set in, farms needed to be run. But there had been nothing frozen about that creature. He'd been fire incarnate, she'd felt heat radiate from his body, had seen it burn in his eyes. Hellfire. She'd been told by her grandmamma in church that sometimes the devil found his way into the hearts of humans. A small look to see what had happened to Seth, and she didn't doubt it.

She'd chosen Adams to begin with because it was rural. The long drive to work didn't bother her, because it actually felt like she had to travel for it. Some nights, when shifts were close, or when they ran late, Shawn had made up a bed for her in the booths with warm blankets and even his own personal snoozing pillow. Despite what she'd seen, she found it difficult to believe the old man, the old _fool_ was a threat. Confused perhaps, exploited, but he had a good soul. She'd seen it, she'd heard it in their talks about God. She didn't call herself religious – grown out of it, but Shawn had a strong faith. She found it admirable, and part of her hoped that Seth did. Because he needed all the help he could get. At the thought of Shawn, a question crossed her mind. Did she still have a job? She doubted it...somehow smashing customer's faces in with kettles probably didn't render you employee of the month.

Did she feel guilty?

Not at all.

Seth groaned next to her, slouched against the window. It sounded terrible, but every sound that came from him gave her some relief, because whether they were made in pain or not; they meant he was still alive. Perhaps it was selfish of her, but she didn't want a dead body in her front seat. She didn't know anything about Seth other than what Roman had told her. Their story was a sad one; she didn't envy them. But their brotherhood, the bond they shared, she found it beautiful. To go through everything they had, and to come out the other end still family. It was extraordinary. But then...as she thought back to everything she'd heard of Seth, it did make her wonder if she could trust him. After all, he'd betrayed them before...no she had to put the thought from her mind.

He needed help.

That was all that mattered.

The roads became bumpy, littered with debris from the trees and hedges. The truck was sturdy though, and didn't even seem to notice rolling on over a half fallen young tree. Only around a thousand people lived in Adams, and she hadn't seen a single one of them. Her shifts meant that she slept most of the day and had become a night owl. Within five minutes she pulled up next to a small white walled house. Well. Grey. It needed re-painting, another on a long list of jobs that would probably never be completed. It was basic, but it was hers. Normally her old Chevrolet Lumina sat on the drive; she automatically liked the bulky truck far better. There was a reason she'd asked Roman for his ride rather than hers, the Lumina rarely started first time and wouldn't have been effective in an escape.

'Seth?' she undid her seat belt and leaned over a little, a worried expression tattooed to her face; it hadn't left since she'd first laid eyes on him. 'Seth, we're safe now. Seth?' she reached over, a hand to his bare arm. It was near purple. But at her gentle touch, he twitched seemingly roused. 'Seth. It's me, Renee, I've brought you to my house. You'll be safe in there, warm. But I need you to help me carry you.' She'd struggled the first time. Realizing she was still wearing the gloves, she unstrapped them slowly and pushed them into her apron pocket. Weight for the waist rather than the hands but it was only for now. She opened the door and swung herself out, landing lightly. The wind was significantly calmer, it licked at her clothes, and pulled the trees, but the fury had died, lost in the hills rather than the flats of the Interstate.

She slammed the door shut and moved around to Seth's side. With a hefty tug, the passenger door opened. Seth near fell out on top of her, but he seemed with it enough to somehow keep both feet on the floor. Renee manoeuvred herself to heave an arm over her shoulder, and knocked the door shut. Together, they moved up the short path to the front door, the porch light blinking on. It flickered uneasily; something else that needed fixing. It had probably been knocked loose by the storm. One hand fished in her dress pocket for her house keys, pulled them free and she unlocked the door. A stumble found both of them on the carpet, him on top of her. He groaned from pain, she swore in shock. He was heavy, and for a moment she was winded.

'Seth.'

A short nod.

'Your face is in my cleavage.'

He didn't answer this time. She knew it wasn't his fault, and she would have laughed at any other time, but considering how weak he was feeling, there was probably a real chance of him suffocating. With difficulty, she managed to shuffle out from underneath him. He lay on the beige carpet motionless. What could she do with him? Renee closed her front door and bit her lip. He could go in her bed...or the sofa...he was too tall for the sofa. All of a sudden, Renee found tears in her eyes. They rolled down her cheeks and she felt sobs rise in her throat. Why was she sad? Sad because of the pain she saw? Sad because of the cruelty before her eyes? Were they tears of frustration? She didn't know. But she didn't give herself a chance to reflect and make it worse. Clearing her throat, she smoothed the damp from her cheeks.

She'd endured so much that night. But the man in front of her had taken more. She had nothing to cry about.

'Seth, we need to get you up.' She tried to heave him up, but he was dead weight. 'Seth come on.' She fell backward trying to pull him along. Hands against the carpet she felt so powerless. Where was the strength that had knocked back the monster earlier? Had she expanded all her energy? A soft mew reached her ears, and she glanced behind her. Prowling toward them, was a Russian Blue, proud, her ears high, Lillian. 'Hello baby, we've got a friend. But he doesn't want to move.' Renee let a loving hand run along the kitty's spine. But Lillian was far more interested in the creature on the floor. She moved toward Seth with purpose. Her wet nose nudged his face, rough tongue licked at the exposed skin, a paw in his hair, as if she were trying to rouse him. To Renee's surprise, one of Seth's puffy eyes flicked open.

'Seth?'

He groaned, and actually moved. His body constricted and he rolled onto his side. His broken hand looked awful, but he was moving. He was awake.

'Where am I?'

'This is my house. You're safe now.'

'Who's this?' he nudged himself against the wall, tried to sit upright. Lillian sat in front of him, her head cocked to one side as if expecting praise for her good work.

'My cat.'

His good hand went to his head, felt the blood that welled there, looked over himself. His head went back against the wall. His skin was so pale he could have been a ghost. His injuries needed to be cleaned, dressed. He needed more help than she could give but as she got onto her knees in front of him, she was willing to do what she could. She reached out her hand toward him, gentle eyes wide.

'I'm here to help you Seth. Roman asked me to, and I owe him.'

He regarded her wearily. 'How...do I know this isn't a trick?'

'I rescued you from the big scary man?'

'Could be a ploy.' His voice was barely above a whisper, but he was maintaining a conversation, more than she could have hoped for. 'Gain...my trust.'

'Or it could be the truth. I have no intention of hurting you, and neither does the cat. So you can either trust me, and let me help, or languish in my landing. Your choice sir.'

The hand was still there, offered. He clearly didn't know what to think; confused from the Hypothermia, hurt, lost and alone...she understood. She really did. But she knew where she stood. It was his decision.

Slowly, he reached forward, arm quivering, and caught her hand.


	19. Is It Worth It?

**KENNEDY**

The world was on fire, he was sure he could feel it burn. It rippled over his skin, burned out his hair, a splitting pain as if someone were knocking his head into two. Of all the things he could ever have done. This was the ending of it all. He could barely open his eyes, tried to stand but didn't possess the strength. He could hear them laughing at him, he could feel their hands on him, dragging, jeering, spitting and kicking. Every blow felt like a thousand splinters stuck into his lungs. He'd found himself on the left hand side of hell and necessity. But he was halfway home. His head rolled. He'd been warned. Told that he would have to endure more than he'd ever taken before; he had to know, had to think about what the endgame was. What was waiting; who needed him more than he needed to feel the pain.

They'd pulled him from the trunk of that car, high powered light blinding his eyes, disorientating him as they forced him down, snarling and struggling like a wild animal. They'd bound their catch, silenced him with their fists. He didn't know many of them there were, every fist felt the same after the first hour of blows. No chance to fight, no chance to defend, and all the while he was waiting, waiting to hear that smug voice seep through the violence. To tell them to stop, to let him come closer, to see what had happened to the once indestructible Roman Reigns. It was an eternity. A spiral of consciousness and agony, interchangeable because he didn't know the first from the last; all he knew for sure was the cold granite floor. It was his steadfast, his protection, as long as he was down, he couldn't fall. The barrier between him and further afield. The chill was pleasant on the wounded body. He almost wished for the rain. He'd seen it hours before. He missed its sound, that rumble of thunder. They would have been comforts, to know that the storm would have followed him here.

But it was worth it; it'd all be worth it. He had to let his mind wander to some distant place. Whatever he was feeling; Dean would suffer tenfold. Cesaro had whispered things into his head, told him what would be done. What he'd go through.

_Is it worth it? _

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

'Pull him up.'

There he was.

Hands in his hair as he was wrenched from the bloody puddle he'd laid in. It took four to keep him up; he didn't have any strength of his own. His eyes slithered open, just enough to see the suit bend down in front of him. That cruel smirk etched on that face. Everything he hated and loathed, wrapped into one body, one pair of eyes which seemed to flash in the meagre light. He was nothing more than the scum he tried to quash. He could remember answering to him with a nod. He could remember being applauded for what he did. How they told him that he and his brothers were the future of Kennedy. About how they were the best at what they did; those days were gone. Instead of the pride which had once tattooed itself on the snake's tongue, there was now venomous bile.

'Roman Reigns. I would have thought more of you.' He shook his head. 'Charging in without thinking, wasn't that always Ambrose's problem? It seemed his bad influence is rubbing off on you. Insanity better not have caught, or I'll have to send you where he's gone.' Oh the _humour _of it all. Enemy on a plate and the man just wanted to talk. He could have ordered them to slit his throat, to stamp the life right out of him. He'd not been afraid of handing out punishment before. The scars on his back were testimony to that. 'You came for him didn't you? I knew you would...but you're a man short.' He looked over to the left where Roman knew Cesaro was standing.

'No sign of him sir, but we'll track him down.'

'And so the Shield collapse.' The Game rubbed his hands with glee. 'One of you will break. I want what's mine Reigns. Even if I have to cut it out of you.'

'Good, fucking, luck.' He managed to wheeze, every single word brought pain. His bound hands and arms had died long ago, all he had to fight back was his defiance.

'Hmm. We'll see.' He gestured to Cesaro, who moved over obediently. 'Start with the fingers. He won't be punching through walls anymore, he won't need them.

Cesaro paused. Then, a slow nod.

'Hold him down boys.' The Game stood back, arms folded. Roman struggled, bucked, he registered the flash of Cesaro's prized dagger. He felt as he was weighed down, held in place, the sharp edge of the knife against his finger. He closed his eyes, gritted teeth, waited...

'A thought sir.'

'It had better be a good one.'

The blade withdrew and Roman found himself breathing. He couldn't stop himself from shaking. Too close. Too close.

'Why not throw him into the pits sir? We've seen him fight; it'd be a shame to waste such skill, when we can make money off the bets.'

For a moment the Game looked as if he were about to explode, but then the calculating look returned to his eyes, one finger to his mouth as he thought about it. Think. Think you fucking bastard. Agree with him, do what he suggests. Do it.

'Which opponent? I can't spare any men, they're sparse enough.'

'There is one sir, who comes to mind.'

'Which is?'

'The one man who's never been defeated; who's destroyed everyone who's ever faced him; stick him in against Lesnar sir. No doubt he'll be punished beyond anything we can do to him, it'll be bound to draw a crowd. Imagine the odds – the flurry it will create. Reigns is notorious in Kennedy – even if he survives, the punters won't let him leave alive.' He made a good pitch, Roman even found himself buying into it. He knew the game he was trying to play. If he could defeat Lesnar, there would be a short window that could be used to escape. But there was a massive threat looming over the very notion. He'd never faced Lesnar before, but he'd seen the damage the man beast could cause. He'd stormed through every willing, every promising opponent he'd ever had. He was the top of the ladder; it was why he was becoming a problem for Cesaro. There was no one to fight the man, so Cesaro found himself sent off to do menial tasks.

But a battle between the Beast and the Powerhouse?

That would draw a crowd.

The Game smirked behind his hand.

'Done. Take him. Book it Cesaro. I want the best spot you have; I want to be able to _taste_ his blood.'

Roman found himself manually lifted and dragged away, but just as he did, he caught the eye of the Swiss man, who winked.

It was falling into place.


	20. The Definition Of Insanity

**((I apologize for not posting up a chapter yesterday! Work is a bit hectic at the moment, so I'm afraid I'll be a little slower than usual getting things up. But don't you worry! The chapters are still coming, I'm nowhere near done with this story! Thank you for your continued support!))**

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM, KENNEDY**

Wasn't it nice? Wasn't it all shiny? He thought that he could smell the daylight coming through the walls. The dawn was there in the dust. The last day of thought and the last day of emotion had come with some breaks in the clouds. He was sure he could almost feel the sun in her body heat. Dust crowded the corners of his eyes. What time was it? Where was time anyway? Fuckers; they'd taken his watch. He found himself laid out on the sofa of the recreation room; uncomfortable cushions with stubborn springs made ridges in his back. But he wasn't alone, because she lay atop of him, her hands wound into the grey of his shirt; her black hair was their blanket. Even in sleep her face was troubled. She couldn't summon a smile even in dreams. What did she dream of? Was it escape from these walls, back into the world which had changed so much? When she'd come, she was a child. The rebellion had just begun, the bottom of the ladder rising up to follow a rattlesnake against the Authority. Times had changed. There was no stone cold leader; the head honcho was now younger, was smarter, more of a fuck.

Any mumble of a new fight had been crushed by the Hounds. But when they'd fled, when they'd turned against the hand that fed, he'd heard whispers of something new stirring in the underground, a movement glorified by an underdog, who had only ever been told no. He wasn't good enough for anything; but he never stopped declaring _yes_. Would there be hope for her beyond this place? Would there be life in those eyes when she awoke to find herself in a brave new world, dominated just as much by fear as it was within St. Jude's?

He'd take everything that they could give if she could have a chance.

His hands moved; the shackles not removed by the orderlies, but by his own clever fingers. He'd learned a thing or two from Seth over the years; and for a man who was arrested as many times as he had been, for a man who seemed to spend half his life bound up, he'd learned escapism late. One of his arms was around her still body, holding her close, as if someone might try and snatch her away from him. She was not his possession. But there was that fear that now they were reunited, Regal would actively try to break them apart. The bond they shared was as if dog to master. His loyalty to the woman would find no end. He'd do what he could to protect her. Half-dazed, he found they were alone. The fact they'd been left set him on edge. Something was wrong.

'AJ,' he whispered. He nudged her gently in the side. 'AJ, wake up. Come on honey, open those eyes for me.'

But she didn't. Either she'd found new levels of dormancy, or...no. He tried to sit up beneath her, pulled her up against him; she was breathing, but not responding to him.

'AJ?'

'She won't be with us for a while Mr Ambrose. But don't worry. She'd only sedated, and will recover in an hour or two.'

There, hidden away in a corner, Regal stood with hands atop that fucking cane. His face had lost that smugness, and darkness hung from his eyes, widened the lines on his face, lost his gaze. No sign of where he was looking, what he was feeling; he looked hollow. Empty was the most dangerous a man could be. To have nothing, meant that it didn't matter what you did. It didn't matter what you took or what you broke, there was no reaction. You could never beat, never destroy nothingness; it held victory before you even began. There was no love in nothing.

'I wish to speak with you, Mr Ambrose. Just us, just the two of us, you don't mind that do you? No, no of course you don't. We can't have Miss Lee interrupting us, but she'll be back. I made sure. The dosage was perfect. I check these things because someone has to keep this place running smoothly. The orderlies; they don't know what they're doing; they don't understand the lengths one has to go to run a sanitarium. They don't know what madness is, Mr Ambrose. Do you know?'

He moved forward, into view, quiet steps as if he were a ghost; some spectre in the madhouse. He could have been an apparition, a figment of Dean's imagination – he had been insane once. They told him he still was, but he knew different. He'd been made better. He had.

'They say that the definition of insanity, is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results. I disagree, Mr Ambrose.'

There was that missing piece of his ear. Dean could still taste the cartilage. It seemed, he was garnering a taste of the human. He did as the shark would; without hands to feel, the next was the teeth. He'd tasted Orton; Regal...had come so close to the Game. But he wasn't insane. Regal came to a halt just out of arms reach, knowing that AJ's limp body made it awkward for Dean to try and get to him. Now, he could see those eyes. They were distant, empty as the shell which should have housed his soul.

'I know madness. I see it in every human; madness, Mr Ambrose is the futility of life. The inability to recognize that it's impossible to change what we have been set; it is a weakness in every man. We're programmed to achieve. We reach for the highest star, the biggest salary, for that position above our fellows. I know madness, Mr Ambrose. I decide it. You, you are mad by my decree. You are insane because you cannot contain your raw emotion, your impulse, your instinct. You are a base human, Mr Ambrose. You do not belong in this heightened society. Because you are different, because you are not what they want, you are locked in my little white box, with its white walls. You are mine to toy with, because I say so. The definition of madness, Mr Ambrose is the very fact that one man can decide the fate of another with the scratch of a pen.'

He leaned forward slowly; face inches from Dean, from AJ.

'She is beautiful in her sleep; one of my very favourites. It would be a shame to lose her. You don't plan on taking my AJ away, do you Dean?' he shook his head. 'Of course you don't. I know what you're planning, but it won't work. The definition of insanity, is repeating your actions, and thinking things will change. You lost once before. Expect to do so again.'

Regal cocked his head to one side.

'Are you afraid of me Dean?'

'Dean?' AJ moved a little, eyes not quiet open, her hold on him tight, her forehead creased in a frown. Her mouth was apart, body not sure where it was; hazed and confused from what they'd pushed into her as she'd slept.

'Do not forget me Dean. Do not forget what I have told you. Let these words be the ones that you remember as they cut into your brain, as they sever the ties. Remember this face. I will be your final memory. Your final clarity, you are alone, and once I am done with you Dean, I shall be all that will make sense, and all that you adore. I shall cure you of your madness. You shall thank me with your soul.'

She moved again with shallow breaths. Dean found his arms had locked around her, his heart against hers so she'd know he hadn't abandoned her. That he never would. She wasn't lost. She would never be alone again. He'd throw it all away; he'd do whatever was needed for her shot in the dark. Events could repeat themselves, but he would change the outcome; even if it would be her through the open door, and him strapped down. She would be free.

He kissed the top of her frown. Tried to give her sweet dreams instead of nightmares; tried what he knew. His sweat had been taken away by the love of two men, brothers from the shadows and the endless Russian roulette. He was sure he could see her blood beat through those veins.

The sound of the door shut.

The only sign that he'd seen anyone real; that insanity had been in the room...the thin line between man and monster was needle thick. They lay, and he felt like they were drowning, falling down through an endless void. The fear that stuck inside him closed his eyes, brought the heaviest breaths he'd ever suffered. Regal had handed him the gun. If help came, he knew that he'd been tossed a careless choice. When the time came, he'd have to chose where to point, and to pull the trigger; on Regal, or on himself.


	21. No Matter Where I Hide

**((Thank you to everyone for being so patient! My shifts at work have changed, so hopefully I'll be able to start updating regularly again! Please continue to let me know what you think! This is quite a long chapter, hopefully that'll make up for the wait!))**

**ADAMS**

He lay in that bed as if he'd always been there. But something she noticed, was he would stray to the left, as if expecting someone to be laying next to him, one hand reached out onto that empty side. It almost bothered her. Who was he missing? Who had once be there for him to hold, but was missing now? In the doorway, she could have been an observer, a carer just checking in on a patient, but in the room, she felt as if she were part of the scene. Like she should have gone and laid down next to him so that he didn't feel so lonely in his sleep. Now in the warm and that she'd forced some soup down his raw throat, he seemed to be far more settled. She'd dressed his wounds as best she could; but his hand? It lay on top of the covers. She stood next to him; arms crossed, and looked down at the fingers. They'd been snapped in all directions; it would take far more than her tapping them together to fix those – he could be crippled for an eternity. She bit her lip, hugged herself a little tighter.

'Why would someone want to hurt you so badly Seth?' the words escaped her lips before she had time to stop them; questions that she just couldn't keep inside her brain. Roman had told her they'd stolen something; had the red monster been after answers as much as she was? What could be so important that Seth would take so much to keep it a secret? To keep it safe? They'd all risked so much...for a moment her mind drifted back to the warehouse. That was where they'd been before Roman had decided to take a road trip...logic dictated that whatever they'd taken would be hiding there.

She was almost tempted to go hunting, but knew, that without knowing what she was looking for, it would be pointless; a sovereign among a mountain of coins. Renee turned and took a mug off the window sill, still hot, her cocoa she'd put down when she'd entered the room. It near burned her hands but after the intense cold of the night, she was grateful of the feeling. Her waitress uniform was hung up in the kitchen, strung from various pegs. A hot shower had found her feeling human again, and she'd slipped into a jumper, trackers and slippers. Winter still lurked at her windows, but at least, there and then, they could both forget about the cold.

Seth had been reluctant to let her touch him at first. But with her insistence and kind words, she'd managed to convince him. She was rather proud of her efforts; the temptation to ring her mother had been overwhelming, but she knew the woman would not be best pleased at her ringing at that time of night, nor the news that her daughter had a fugitive in her bed.

He had such slender hands. Thieving fingers. It almost made her smile. What a strange dream this all was. She was sure at some point she'd wake up and find herself back in Mama's, taking orders and delivering burgers. Her reality had never been so dangerous or exciting.

Renee lifted the mug to her mouth and took a generous gulp of the smooth chocolaty goodness. Fuck the diet. She deserved this.

As she lowered her head, she near jumped when she noticed Seth had opened his eyes. The mug nearly hit the floor, but she managed to secure her grip and put it back on the sill without too much trouble.

'Hey, how're you feeling?'

His good hand went to his head and rubbed it. She'd had to force the covers under the mattress so that he couldn't throw them off. As soon as she was dressed, she'd been straight on the laptop looking up symptoms of hypothermia, and how to treat it. When you didn't have answers – to Google! She'd pulled out the winter blankets from under the bed and near covered him. On the bedside table was another mug of hot chocolate, and a thermometer. She'd very nearly pulled out an old nurse tiara she had in the cupboard from a fancy dress party years before; but thought the better of it. She wanted Seth to feel safe, not be worried she was suddenly going to go all Annie Wilkes on him and start hammering limbs. He had enough things broken.

'Tired...' his voice was stronger than before, but not loud. 'Cold,' He shivered down under the blankets before grunting in pain. 'Fucking ribs...'

Good, swearing was good. In her experience people swore when they were feeling better.

'You're lucky Seth, could be a lot worse. If Roman hadn't somehow pulled me into this mess, he may have come back to a dead body.'

To her surprise, the man shook his head, 'He doesn't want me dead,' eyes flicked to the mug beside him, then despairingly down to his busted hand. Renee understood, hurried over, picked up the mug and very gently allowed him to sip from it. Luckily his bruised face had already started to go down, he had an odd purple yellow tinge, but better than it was. The cut on his forehead had turned out smaller than she'd thought. Seth nodded, and she put the mug back down. 'Love cocoa...used to have it all the time.'

'If that monster didn't want you dead Seth, he was doing a pretty brutal job of keeping you alive.'

'That monster, his name is Kane. We don't get along.'

'I can tell.'

'He was sent by the Game...wanted answers. He can always find me. No matter where I hide.'

A horrible shiver rolled up Renee's spine.

'He can...always find you? You mean he'll come here?'

A grim nod from Seth; she looked around her beloved little house. This was her home. She'd bought it herself; this was her shelter, her sanctuary. The very thought of that _Kane_ finding it...

'Why can he always find you?'

'That's what he does. He's known as _the Devil's Favourite Demon_, he finds people. He gets what he needs from them...then they die.'

'But not you?'

He shook his head; something she could tell hurt him. 'Didn't give him what he wanted. Didn't give it up; went through too much shit getting hold of it in the first place.'

Slowly, Renee sat on the side of the bed, careful to avoid causing him pain or touching him in anyway. She just needed a minute. Every single time she asked a question, she received answers she didn't like. These were marked men, foolish men it seemed...unable to outrun the demons hunting them down. For a moment, there was silence. But then, slinking around the corner of the bedroom door came a familiar ball of fluff. Lillian purred and played around her mistress' legs. Renee leaned forward and scooped up the cat, placed her in her lap and stroked her absently, eyes out the window at the winds .

'What did you take from the Game Seth?' she looked down to Lillian, whose eyes were on Seth, as they had been since he came into her home. He, and all his troubles, and she was the guilty one, because she'd been the one to drag him there. She'd delivered him to her own door, and only now, finally, after the adrenaline was gone, was she ready to start feeling afraid.

The same look she'd been given by Roman earlier answered her; that testing, knowing look which felt as if her character was being judged. But Seth's eyes were different to Roman's. It felt like he was seeing straight through into her actual brain, because his gaze was on her forehead, not her eyes. As if he was trying to read her thoughts. What could it possibly be that they wanted to keep it such a secret from her? That they were so willing to protect?

'It was never his to begin with,' Seth closed his eyes, head dug back into the pillow. She wanted to throw something at that face, he was mocking her.

'Don't you sleep, don't you dare. I want to know.'

One eye slipped open, just a slither, and for the first time since they'd met, he looked her in the eye.

'No, you don't.'

'Try me.' She leaned forward, frown etched on her face. 'I'm not scared of you. What terrifies me is not knowing; I'm a part of this now Seth. I need you to understand that, because anything I don't know could kill me.'

He laughed at her then. She wanted to push down on those broken ribs. She _hated_ him in that moment. Renee moved from the bed, made to leave, Lillian falling to the carpet. But just as she was about to go through that door, something made her stop, one hand on the frame...waiting. If she was patient, if she didn't allow her emotions to get the better of her...perhaps she'd win. But he said nothing. The laughter had eased, but her anger had not. She left him alone in that dark room. Alone, save for a patch of grey blue fur, which jumped up onto the bed with ease. Who curled herself up next to the slowly warming body there. His fingers reached out, scratched her ears.

'The further away she is the safer..._knowing_ is what'll kill her...think she hates me?' his soft voice asked the cat. Lillian looked up at him, blinked, and mewed. He sighed, 'Thought so.' He closed his eyes. He'd slept better in this bed than he had in his own months before. Perhaps it was the comfort of knowing the only eyes watching him meant no harm. But then...his head rolled to the side and found that empty space once again; occupied by a cat. A small smile cut his lips. So this was safety? He could get used to it.

* * *

><p>Renee sat at the kitchen table and scribbled furiously. The black pen scratched against the paper, tearing in places but she didn't care. She just needed to get him the fuck out of her system. After all she did, all she was rewarded with was silence and laughter. She didn't know anything more. She was risking her life for men who didn't seem to care or even notice. She was giving strangers her trust, when they refused to give it back. After what felt like only minutes had passed, she sat back in her chair, and let the pen drop to the floor. It hit the kitchen tiles, rolled under the table but she didn't care. Her elbows were on the wood, head in her hands, long blond hair fell about. She stared absently at the page in front of her, not seeing anything beyond the mass of lines. Where was Mr Cesaro? She felt the need to smash someone with a kettle again. Somehow she didn't think it would go down too well with Roman if she tried that on Seth...<p>

Roman.

She blinked, cocked her head a little to the left. She thought she'd just been tearing at the page, but now that she looked, _really_ looked...it did almost; if you looked at it...it did look like him. How weird. Maybe he was just as much in her bad books as Seth. But it seemed even in her rage he had those same intense eyes and pronounced jaw. Who was this third member of their party? This Dean Ambrose they so worried about? What was he like? Was he anywhere near as infuriating as his brothers? She traced the lines of Roman's hair. Had he angered her? Really? Perhaps...but he'd always somehow made up for it.

Except now he hadn't. He was nowhere to be seen whilst she dealt with his arsehole brother. He was off playing hero. If he'd managed to follow the plan...had he actually made it into the car? She hadn't hung around to find out...she should have stayed, given him some form of get away in case everything hadn't gone according to plan. Guilt suddenly welled up inside, and she pulled her mobile from her pocket. Nothing; from anyone, let alone an unknown number. Maybe he just didn't have access to a phone. Pretty fucking likely considering what he was trying to do. But then, it had been hours now...wouldn't he have tried to find one, just to ease her concerns?

Arsehole.

She sighed and put the phone on the table. Food. She wanted food. Specifically something covered in peanut butter. Fuck the diet.

Just as toast popped and she set to assaulting it with bananas and peanutty goodness, there was a short _bleep bleep_. She didn't even remember moving, but found herself at the table, phone in hand, checking, waiting. Damn thing was taking too long to open messages! Her fingertips were coated in peanut butter but she didn't care.

Words came up, her eyes widened.

_I'm in Kennedy. I have to fight in the underground for a chance to get to Dean. Keep Seth safe. _

_I'm alright. Don't do anything stupid, stay out of sight. If something happens, remember, some __**dirty deeds**__ can be forgiven. _

Her eyes glance over to the gloves which lay on the work top, where she'd dumped them earlier. They looked harmless, but she could remember the feel of cartilage shifting, of bone crunching, the _sound_. Renee put down the phone. As soon as she did, it blinked again.

_Stay safe Renee, I'll be back soon_.

An unsteady smile tugged her lips, and she licked peanut butter from the end of a finger.


	22. Kill The Idea

**((We're back to Roman for this chapter! Once again, thank you for sticking with the story despite the delays!))**

**KOW UNDERGROUND ARENA, KENNEDY**

He'd been sat in the chair for over an hour; his only movement the two and fro rock which moved him like the tide. He hadn't had a thought for minutes, his eyes burned through the concrete floor. They'd dressed his wounds and bound his ribs and shoulder; they'd allowed him to eat and removed the ties that had bound him. Already he could hear the roars of a budding crowd, people arriving in their droves. A frenzy of betting had broken out only minutes before hand. He'd heard Cesaro's voice just above the chaos, calling the shots, taking money and names. But louder than it all, was the sound of his own heavy heartbeat. He didn't know what lay ahead of him; he knew his opponent through reputation alone. The KOW was Dean's area, not his. His style of fighting was radically different from that of his brother. Dean was vicious as a cornered hyena, he _found_ ways of winning through ridiculous means, sheer bloody-mindedness, and a determination that Roman had never seen matched. Would Dean have survived against a man like Lesnar? Roman didn't know...and couldn't have possibly known what was in store for him.

They kept him waiting. They wanted him to panic, but when he'd been pushed into the room, the Game had warned him that should he try and escape, there would be guards waiting. Guards he could handle, but he didn't know numbers, he didn't know locations. The logistics were the difference between winning and losing...and he had nothing. Nothing but the two hands were in front of him, resting upturned on his knees, palms facing the heavens as if he had a prayer. But there was nothing to say; only actions. He felt the floor vibrate, hammer with the stomps of the never ending crowd; how would they fit so many in this place? Did everyone truly want to see the blood of Roman Reigns paint the fists of _the Beast_? Perhaps. Enemies outnumbered friends; even if it had been through misunderstanding, Roman knew he was completely alone in this mad venture. This was only a chance, and Cesaro had been very keen to explain that the window of escape was short; and only open in the first place should he win. There was a very real chance he wouldn't.

Roman opened and closed those hands, turned them to fists and stared at the knuckles. Dean called his right hook the Superman Punch, called him the _Powerhouse, the Big Dog, the Juggernaut_...all names he'd worn at different times. But he'd left them in Kennedy when he'd left. It seemed strange to even try and wear them again.

The door opened, and a body, doubled over shuffled in. As soon as it was shut, it hurried to Roman's side and dropped to its knees next to him. A crazy mass of hair, the face was obscured, but from the hands came a tumble of tape.

'We don't have a lot of time.' the voice was soft, almost high, as if someone had trodden on a dog's toy and left it to wheeze. Roman stared at the hairy creature incredulously, and even flinched when they started to wrap his left hand. 'You're Roman Reigns aren't you? Yes...they've been chanting your name, baying for your blood...I'm here to help you Mr Reigns. I was sent, I have news, messages.' The tape was tight, but secure, wrapped extra around the knuckles to save him from himself.

'News...of what?'

'Of a friend of yours...I know Dean Ambrose. He's in the halls of St. Jude's again, I tried to help him, but he wouldn't let me in case they caught me. But I said I would, I told him I'd get word to his friends.'

'Dean?' he near shouted it. The hair looked up, finally revealing an equally shabby face, with child like eyes which looked at him panicked, a gnarled finger was raised to scarred lips.

'Shh.'

'Is he alright?'

'As well as he can be...Mr Regal is taking his brain tonight.' He ripped the tape to a halt, then shuffled along the dusty floor to the other side and began on the other hand. 'But I'm going to help you help him. With Lesnar out the way there are ways into St. Jude's – so many ways!'

'What ways?' Roman hissed; his eyes flicked to the door but there was no sign of movement. They couldn't hear what was going on inside because of the commotion beyond. He'd never stepped foot into one of the arena's themselves before; only stood guard at passages and exits to keep away unwanted attentions whilst Seth went in to get Dean out. He belonged on the streets, not below them; this was not his world.

'The boiler room.' The man gripped Roman's hand tightly in his two. 'The boiler room is unguarded, and there are ways through it down into these passages.'

'How do you know?'

'I made them!' he laughed, a crazed sound; it made Roman wonder if the man was as escapee from the sanitarium or genuinely there to help him; but he wasn't in any position to question what he was being told. He needed everything he could get, from a madman or otherwise. 'I broke through with bare hands and teeth, but Mrs Foley's little boy isn't the only one who uses them, oh no. They echo, I hear people chanting, shouting through my hallways.' He cupped a hand to his ear, 'Listen! You can almost hear them now!'

Roman raised his eyebrow. 'I don't hear -,'

A hand gripped round the back of his neck and dragged him down to the cold floor. 'Listen!' the other man had his ear pressed directly to the dirty ground, but the smile on his mouth, the calm as he closed his eyes, made Roman do the same. He felt stupid, was wasting precious mental time entertaining the thoughts of a potentially crazy man ((but who was he to judge? He hung out with Dean)), but with a deep sigh, he placed his ear to the concrete.

He was pretty sure all he felt were the vibrations.

'Yes, yes, yes, yes,' the man whispered.

Roman frowned, and strained his hearing to that beyond the crowd. Wait...there...he closed his eyes.

_Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!_

'What is that?'

'The revolution my friend!' the man was on his knees now and pulled Roman up onto his own. 'They whisper in my halls, they talk of fighting back. Imagine! I remember the rattlesnake...'

'That was a long time ago. We destroyed the rebels.'

'But you didn't kill the idea,'

Roman found the man's dirty finger far too close to his face. 'The idea is still out there, and now people are starting to think that there is a way. That fighting back can be as simple as saying one word: _yes_.'

Taped hands pushed the man back, 'Get away from me. I don't have time for rebellions, I'm not here for your crazy talk. I'm only in Kennedy for Dean, and when we're together, I'm taking him away from this shit storm city. We'll go somewhere safe, where we can't and won't be bothered. Kennedy is the past.'

'I remember the past. The past was bloody; I was younger then, had a different face. They used to say I was ugly and hid me behind a mask. But I remember it all; who I was. Before they hid me; they used to call me Cactus Jack.'

Roman stared. He may not have recognized the short order chef, but this was one name which made him uneasy. He moved back a little. Dean had told him of the man known as Cactus Jack. The madness which possessed him, the violence of what he did; no thought, no plan, just pure glee. He was thought impossible to kill; had sustained injuries more than what any man should have lived through. This troll; this creature in front of him, with those wide, almost innocent eyes...it couldn't be the monster that Dean had spoken of – a man of legend in Kennedy.

'I will help you. If you win, I'll take you through the tunnels to Dean.'

'And if I don't?'

'Then I'll give you a jolly funeral in a lovely casket...been in a few of those...they're quite snug.'

'Great. Thanks.' The world of comfort, right there. Roman pushed himself up from the floor. The cold rippled over his skin; they'd stripped him of his coat and vest, left him bare-chested in the wasteland of the room. Patches of the walls and ceiling were mouldy from neglect. It could have been a bunker to keep you safe from nuclear fallout. He doubted even Cesaro knew the true origins of the place he built his fights. In a few short minutes, he could be alive or dead. It was a feeling that was almost numbing, and spread through his entire body, from his core, through to his fingers and toes to the tips of his ears. His muscles strained beneath inked and scarred skin. 'This will hurt...' he muttered.

'Yes. It will. But only if you let it.'

'Meaning?'

'I've been thrown off buildings before, my ear was torn off, I lost teeth, broke bones...all the surgeries.' He moved that nest of hair aside to show the ruined ear. 'But I carried on, because there was always something more important on the other side of it; something worth the pain.'

_Is it worth it?_

Roman nodded gravely. He understood. He cracked his head and his shoulders, and the man stood in front of him.

'My name is Mick Foley. Save Dean, Mr Reigns. He's my friend.'

'He's mine too Mick...mine too.'

The door suddenly swung open. Roman placed a hand on Mick's sweating shoulder, and nodded. He knew pain; what he'd suffered over the years seemed almost nothing compared to what the other man had been through. Half-crazed; there was something in Mick' face he couldn't help but trust, the way he pleaded with him to save Dean...the Shield weren't the only brotherhood in the world. He knew that; and Mick was a simple reminder that the picture was always far bigger than the fragment he focused on. But then, and there, what was coming was his focus. For a moment, he stared at that open door, thoughts flicked to Renee and Seth, hoped they were safe, and glad they weren't there to witness what was going to happen.

There was a thin line between men and monsters, and as he walked toward that door, he kicked dust over the threshold, and headed out into the hunger.


	23. The Bets Are In

**((H'okay! So there's going to be a slight change up in this chapter; as seen in the bonus chapter way back along, we're moving into the Game's POV for a portion - the part in italics - I hope this makes sense to everyone, please enjoy!))**

**KOW UNDERGROUND ARENA, KENNEDY**

_He'd waited for this. _

_Although it had only been month since the descent had begun, since the troubles had started, it felt like the struggle had been longer. The Hounds had been tugging at the leash well before they'd turned, jaws clamped down and ran off howling into the distance. What had happened to push them so far? Perhaps it was the decision to have them punish all; rather than those they deemed wrong. He'd allowed them their self-righteous philosophy, but it had grown stale. By now their retaliation was famed. Most of Kennedy knew of the battles between the Shield and the Authority. It was just another page in the violent history of the city. Whilst at the time he and his people had been proven beaten, their continued pressure had procured Seth Rollins. From there, it was a matter of time..._

_Of course, like all games, he became bored of toying with the thief. Allowed him to beg and barter his way back into the favour of the men he'd betrayed, just to start a brand new hand. They'd been fools, taken what was precious to him, and run like dogs. But he'd hunted them down; within hours, one would be invalid, and the other, dead. One left to chase, the betrayer. As he sat in the chair brought for him, he adjusted himself to comfort, rubbed his hands with glee. _

_At home his beautiful wife was sleeping; their three daughters lost in wonderful dreams. They knew nothing of the carnage which would be soon taking place. But he knew the smile would cross his wife's mouth when she knew what had happened. This was her war as much as it was his. He was the front of the Authority; but it was her legacy. Kennedy, its surrounding cities...all of it belonged to her. She was the brain behind his bulk. Whilst he knew she would condemn him for not waking her to share the news of Reign's capture, the news of his death at the hands of Lesnar would surely buy him favour once again._

_The private box he sat in was usually inhabited by the rats which swarmed every other available space. The scum of the city were vermin. Cesaro knew their language, how they bought into blood and bone. They would descend on his arena like the plague, all floundering, gagging for the sight of violence to break their soulless lives. He watched them now, held back by wire fences that they threw themselves against to just try and get closer to the carnage. Pathetic excuses for human beings. There were few he counted among his circle; those he decided were worthy, through blood or through their loyalties to him. _

_To his left, stood Randall Orton. Young, but strong, he was as the snake, forever coiled, forever ready to strike out of nowhere. They had a long history, and Hunter credited himself as being the one who had brought the lad out of the gutter. He'd seen the potential, the hatred in those eyes of his, the predatory nature that he knew he could bend and use. He allowed him to flourish, but knew when to cut him down. Randy had too much ambition, ambition that needed to be kept in check. His supreme hatred for the Shield had been cemented after their first meeting; but even more so when he'd been assigned to watch over Rollins. The two had clashed harder than titans, a collision which had found Rollins on his two feet, and Randy beaten and brain damaged. His lucidity was debateable, and his actions impulsive; blamed on these __**voices **__he claimed to hear...the only voice that was important was that of the Game. Any others would be beaten to silence should they cause problems._

_On the right of him, was the __**Animal**_, _Dave Batista. _

_Their history was...chequered to say the very least. Old allies; they'd gone their separate ways for a long while. But when Hunter had called on him, he'd emerged from the wilderness to stand beside him. Batista was a brute through and through, he needed telling, thought little for himself; the perfect soldier. He obeyed without question, he fought for victory. _

_He'd called the two of them to be his lieutenants. So far, they had not disappointed. Randy had arms crossed; his hand bandaged from where the lunatic Ambrose had attempted to bite his fingers off. He'd failed, the digits had been saved, and Randy could have some closure from what was to come for the madman. They were unaffected by the noise; stood motionless, waiting._

_Cesaro stood in the centre of the makeshift arena, built from raw materials and the remains of the underground bunkers which made the foundation of the city. On occasion, after heavy rainfall, parts would give way, and entire buildings would tumble down into the depths, revealing yet another part of the labyrinth. The Swiss man wore his best suit, despite the filth that he stood in. There was little in the way of actual ground. The floor was cleared somewhat to allow some decent movement, but rubble and old building parts remained, and could be used as weapons if desired. _

'_Welcome to KOW Arena!' he had to shout at the top of his lungs to be heard over the chaos. 'We have brought you blood, we have brought you mayhem, we have brought you death; but today we bring you a battle never before seen!' The crowd drunk it up and even the Game himself leaned forward in his chair, a hand rubbed his chin in anticipation. 'The undefeated Beast, Brock Lesnar! Versus the Big Dog, Roman Reigns! The bets are in, the fight is on!'_

_The screams, it was akin to nothing he'd ever seen or heard before. He felt as Caesar, sat above the Coliseum, waiting to declare life or death. _

_There was a wide entrance behind Cesaro, a tunnel which lead out to the bunkers which were used to hold the competitors. From the shadows, to the rabid roars of the crowd, came two figures. One was tall, built like a bulldozer, with a rock like skull atop the body. The other more resembled a walrus, fat. But one was never without the other._

'_Introducing first, accompanied by his manager Paul Heyman...Brock Lesnar!' _

_Yes. Yes this would be excellent. He'd seen Lesnar in action before, had seen what he could do to even those considered the best in the world. He'd toppled champions and gods among men. Any who'd dared to step into battle with the Beast, had been defeated, decimated, destroyed. He wasn't much of a talker; that was left to the fat man next to him. Heyman could sell honey to bees. Neither was part of the Authority. Lesnar was a mercenary, the only languages he knew were brutality and money. The Authority had plenty of the latter, and the arena gave the former. Lesnar himself bobbed on the spot, in perfect shape, ready for what came. _

'_And now, his opponent! Former member of the Shield – The Hounds of Justice! Roman Reigns!'_

_Lesnar had moved to the other side of the fight space, tiny eyes fixed on the entrance mouth. Slowly, so very slowly, as a man walking toward his own death, came Reigns. He stopped at the edge of the arena floor, one hand raised to protect his eyes from the glare of the lights which were hooked to the rafters of the underground arena. He was bashed up, bashed in, one eye near swollen shut from the beating they'd given him. All over his bare chest and arms were signs of injury, stiffness, soreness...he was just a piece of discount steak to throw to Lesnar. The Game clicked his fingers, and from behind, where he'd been lurking next to a makeshift bar, JBL rushed forward and slipped a whiskey into his boss' hand. As the two competitors moved forward to face one another, Hunter took a sip and smirked. This was the life._

* * *

><p>He hadn't anticipated the hatred which fell on him from the crowd. He could hear the death threats; he heard the jeers and sickening insults. His history was not forgotten among the people. There, across from him, was the undefeated monstrosity. It was strange to see him in a human body; all the rumours, all the whispers...they all talked of something immortal, some great beast who could mow down all in his path. Some talked of a man seven feet tall, others said he could make the earth move with every step. But here he was. This Brock Lesnar. Roman felt his muscles pull, sore still, as he stepped forward on the uneasy ground. Debris was scattered everywhere...and he realized why Dean always returned so ruined. This wasn't just about fighting; it was about demolishing your opponent. The closer he came...the less he feared this man. The myth gave way to human skin and bone, a creature his height and his build.<p>

With a fucking great sword tattooed to his chest.

For a second, Roman's eyes flicked to his own ink; his tribute to his family and his lineage. There was nothing great, nothing historic or proud of that phallic chest piece. It looked ridiculous when it was supposed to seem hard, supposed to seem _dangerous_. This Brock Lesnar...he was no god. He was a man.

Men could be beaten.

Cesaro stood between them. His gaze flicked between the two competitors, but lingered a little longer on Roman. There was something in those eyes, almost a flash of warning, as if saying _be careful_. The intensity of Lesnar's stare was enough to make Roman challenge him physically. He moved up against him, chest to chest, foreheads butted, nose to nose. Not a word uttered, not a word needed. He wasn't afraid. He would fight to the last. Behind it all, Heyman lurked, a box of tricks in the wings should Lesnar need interference. Somehow, Cesaro managed to force himself between the two goliaths.

'No rules gentlemen, the match is over by submission, a competitor is unable to continue...or death. Are we clear?'

Something was rising, an odd rhythm, a heartbeat almost. The spectators had the rungs of the wire fence, pulled it back, and slammed it against its fastenings and poles. They'd begun their own countdown; their own declaration of the match's beginning. Roman chanced a glance around at a thousand or more faces he'd never seen before. But there, in his royal box, glass in hand, smug, sick smirk pinned in place, watched the Game. He downed the rest of his drink, and tossed the glass lazily into the arena. As soon as it smashed, Lesnar lurched forward. Begin.


	24. Remember Me

**((And here is a new chapter for you! So very sorry about the delay, house hunting overtook my brain process for a few days, please forgive me for holding you in suspense, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please let me know if you do!))**

**KOW UNDERGROUND ARENA, KENNEDY**

It was strange how a man of so little faith in others could take so long to find it in himself. Roman's strength had always been applied to save the lives of others, and he couldn't remember a time that he'd employed it to try and keep himself alive. The endgame was Dean; but that moment, as the _Beast_ came toward him, a flash of realization, that cold truth hit him. He'd discussed it in his head, had known it all along, but there, then, he knew, that if he didn't fight back with every single thing he had, he'd never make it out of the pit. Dean's fate did not matter if he didn't survive.

Lesnar crashed into him with such force; a shoulder straight between the ribs that drilled Roman back, his boots skidded along the dusty floor, rubble tried to send him down. Somehow he'd managed to grip a hold of the body and so kept his footing. They came to a stop, and some curious ache stilled his breathing. Lesnar didn't stop, meaty hands dug into the skin of Roman's arm, and with a cruel smirk, he turned and used his own momentum to fling the body over. He didn't care for physics, he did not care for weight; the fact Roman was the same size was no consequence. He was just another opponent to crush into the dirt. The impact of hitting the floor knocked the wind from him, and the back of Roman's head hit the concrete floor with a sickening crunch. Dazed, he blinked his eyes rapidly, tried to gather his bearings, tried to ignore the rock like pain in his chest. He swallowed over and over, tried to wet his dust clogged throat. Lesnar seemed to have stopped, and Roman was vaguely aware of booted feet bouncing just out of his vision. Here, on the floor, he couldn't hear the jeers of the bloodthirsty crowd; but he felt their vibrations. They rumbled through the ground, made the tiniest rubble flints jump from the floor. Was this their causing? Or were the voices Foley heard below rising to the surface?

'Get up,' a kick to the ribs turned him over, and he somehow managed to scramble up onto his feet. Unsteady, he shook his head, long hair loose, a tumble of black which almost seemed to blind him. But through the strands he saw the _Beast_ come closer, a streak of blond and pink muscle which impacted like a freight train. He didn't carry Roman back. He stopped. Arms linked about the waist and Roman felt his stomach drop into his boots as he was heaved. Released.

His body smacked into a pile of discarded concrete slabs, and he felt the gash on his forehead reopen, felt every part of his body throb. How could Dean keep coming back to this? What was there to gain from the mindless violence of it all? Roman had turned his back on needlessness when they'd escaped Kennedy; what was there to be said for men who enjoyed the pain? Who relished the splinter of bone and the blossom of bruise and blood? Their blood must have been nuclear. But the mere thought of Dean then, as he shook the rising agony away and somehow stumbled down to face Lesnar again, made him stand tall. He'd taken beatings before.

Why would this be different to any other?

But his defiance didn't rock Lesnar. At Heyman's urging, he roared forward, swung a great fist. Somehow Roman managed to block the first, countered a punch of his own to the abdominal area. But Lesnar didn't even flinch. Knuckles collided with Roman's jaw, near knocked him down, but somehow he caught himself. Lesnar hit like the very sledgehammer that leaned against the chair the Game lounged in. Another first found Roman's exposed stomach; another to the chest, the stomach, jaw, shoulder, chest, stomach, jaw, shoulder and chest...there was training here. This wasn't just wild punches; Lesnar knew how to target body parts. He was trying to break Roman into pieces; not to just claim victory, but to destroy his opponent.

Roman took the next shot to the stomach; but twisted into it, back bent back, the jaw shot glanced off and he caught hold of the massive arm of Lesnar, lowered and smashed a hardy elbow straight into the _Beast's_ nose. A delightful crunch echoed. Heyman stared in shock. The punters were silenced. The Game sat forward in his chair; amazed. Roman dignified himself few seconds to breathe, enough time to see the first dribbles of blood ooze from the nostrils of the unbeatable man in front of him. An odd sense of pride near stilled him, almost made him cocky, but he didn't have time to gloat. His body was screaming but he knew he had to fight on. Roman lurched forward, boot slammed down onto Lesnar's foot, hands smacked the ears; the right fist closed tight, cocked, raised, and ready to smash the rest of that face –

Fingers wrapped around his wrist, halted his attack without effort. Roman found himself near dangling. A cruel darkness had fallen over Lesnar; his head was bowed, but Roman could almost _sense_ the change that was coming over him...was what he'd already suffered nothing? He swallowed, and swung his foot forward, hoped to chance a heavy shot to the balls, try to rectify this. But Lesnar carelessly swung him to the side; Roman found his body against the wire of the walls. Hands clawed through; they grabbed at his hair, nails dug into his skin. He roared against them, managed to tear himself free...and leaving handfuls of hair behind. He had to blink the pain away, could feel as blood started to well over his skull.

Cesaro was stood out of harm's way, on a slightly raised platform just below where the Game sat and admired the bloody view. His arms were folded, one hand to his mouth. Roman breathed heavily, for second forgetting where he was; was that concern in the eyes of his enemy? But he made no attempt to warn him as Lesnar's arms enveloped him like chains. He locked his hands in place, pinned Roman's body and started to crush. How was he so strong? Roman could barely breathe, felt as broken rips and bruised spine cried, as his muscles burned, lungs constricted. Darkness pooled in the corners of his eyes, his head lolled to his shoulder. Who was that face in the crowd? The one who looked almost sad at the sight of another falling to Lesnar? They looked disappointed.

How...how fucking dare they?

Would they step into this ring? Did they understand? Did they know what had brought him to this point? Could they even begin to imagine the torture that his body had endured? Did they know his brain? What made him who he was? Did they see the exhaustion, and the almost evil temptation to just give in and sleep? To let all the hell end?

Did they know who he was?

His teeth gritted. Muscles bulged. Effort cracked his bones and he braced himself against the arms which bound him. The unshakeable focus in Lesnar's eyes cracked too.

He was only a man. Just a man. He'd made him bleed.

With a great roar, Roman forced his arms outward, somehow managed to make his opponents knuckles slip, the grip to break. He landed awkwardly, one knee to the ground, but raised himself up from the dust. His tongue flicked out to taste the blood which ran; fingers touched the wound, hard, rough fingers. They weren't gentle or kind. He didn't have a gentle heart. He didn't have kindness in those clenched fists; perhaps the memory of her would guide him to mercy. Perhaps the thought of his brothers suffering would bring him to murder.

'Come on Lesnar!' he taunted, feet braced against the floor. Roman threw himself forward, every step like thunder, every second passed faster and faster, right fist raised, and shot. It tasted cheekbone and spat out blood and teeth from Lesnar's mouth. The _Beast_ was undeterred, simply spat, a smirk on that gash of a mouth at his prey fighting back; but he was mistaken. He wasn't the hunter. They were equals. Two wild animals locked in a box to battle it to the death. Breathing was difficult, his vision swam but he wouldn't give up, he wouldn't back down, and he certainly wasn't fucking losing this to a man with a cock sword on his chest. Lesser men had fallen from his infamous _Superman Punch_ (Dean and his fucking nicknames) but he knew it would take more than locked and loaded knuckles to take down Lesnar.

The rubble was scattered all around them. Pieces lurked in solitude with smashed edges, others huddled in groups, a carpet of cracks and splinters that could impale or break bone if used right. Some were great chucks, too heavy to be moved, others ball sized, all dangerous. Metal pipe and old plastic webbing were caught in the stone and the fine dust from the destruction. The environment was a weapon as much as their own two hands. Lesnar knew this; as one of his great mitts wrapped around one of the exposed pipes and jerked it free, caused a half landslide that his manager jumped out of the way to avoid with a pig like squeak. He dragged it, let it scrape along that floor, a chalk line followed as the sound punctured Roman's ears.

Roman moved back uneasily, eyes flicked left and right, searched through the rising dust for something with which to combat the new threat. But someone beat him to it. Before he realized what happened, he found himself on his back, a foot down on his wrist, crushing it against the rubble. He snarled and tried to fight it off; found the full weight of Paul Heyman smiling down at him. In those eyes he saw all the greed in the world; he saw the pride that came before the fall; and the as the lights glared down, the shadow of Lesnar fell over him, steel pipe in hand, tapped into the palm of the other.

'Do it Brock! End him! Put him down like the dog he is! Do it!' Paul pointed viciously down at the prone Roman. He could feel the wetness of the blood on the back of his skull; unaware he'd even hit his head. How could he still see? How was he even awake? The adrenaline was burning out, the pain becoming too much to take...it would have been so easy to close his eyes, to sleep. He let his head fall back against the rubble as the pipe was raised. His lids closed; waited for the inevitable.

'_Wanna know why I call you Superman Rome?' _

_Sure why not?_

'_Because you were always the one that they were scared of, they knew who you were, what you were capable of. Your family's caused them problems for years right? Did you never stop and think the reason they recruited you in with monsters like us was so they could tame you? That's what they did. They were smart see; I saw it. I knew it and I didn't stop it because I needed you and couldn't help being a selfish bastard. He made us your Kryptonite. We became your weakness because we're brothers. We all wanted to be part of something so badly we didn't realize what they were doing...they say I'm insane. Do you think I'm crazy Rome? Because damned if I know. Because what I know is, that I know that I'd do anything for you guys. Take all the bullets whilst you got the fuck out of dodge if that's what it took. I'm not a hero Rome; I'm selfish, I'd only do it so you guys were safe because that's what __**I want**_**. **_But you?_

_You'd do it for any goddamn person who smiled at you; who gave you a hint of a reason. You're a hero Rome; you're fucking Superman. And you know what? They should be scared.'_

Maybe he could reverse the world, maybe he could punch through walls – no. But his free hand moved faster than his sluggish body could register, gripped the trouser of the leg that pinned him. Pulled. The fat body fell over him as that pipe came down. The cold crack of steel on skull rang out like a bell toll.

_Yes! Yes! Yes!_

He couldn't breathe, used the last of his strength to somehow heave the walrus off him. He thought he heard the pipe hit the floor. He wiped blood from his face; saw the stunned faces of all. His shaking legs barely brought him to his feet, his bare chest and back were hacked and battered. But they didn't stare at him. All eyes were on Lesnar. Roman turned his head with difficulty. The _Beast_ was on his knees, the unmoving body of his manager lay before him. His eyes wide open, mouth open for one last pitch; but no sound, no breath. He could see it, the red stained grey.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

'I -,'

But before another word could escape, he found hands on his shoulders, they turned him and Cesaro stared intently at him.

'Go. Get out of this place. Get out and never fucking come back. I will kill you myself for this, if we cross paths again Reigns.' His knuckles cracked with restraint, the threat knife sharp in his eyes. He released him, and went to Lesnar's side. The _Beast's_ eyes were empty. The crowd were silent. But Roman felt their gaze. It burned into his skin harsher than any voltage. The hate they'd once had for him, intensified. Not a word was said, it was all in their eyes. The devil stood in their ring, he'd taken one of their own, stolen the silver tongue from them. Heyman's stare was accusing. Roman moved back uneasily.

'Take him down!'

He heard the order before he saw that the Game was out of his chair. Roman turned, lactic acid burned but he had no choice. The tunnel he'd come down before was dark, dank, but his only way out. The arena lights burned his back as he fled into the darkness.

'This way Roman!'

He didn't have time to question, followed that high voice.

'Hurry! Hurry! Faster! This way! This way! Come on!'

The direction confused him; the shadows all felt the same. This wasn't how he'd come; a new route unknown to him. He was out of luck and the only luxury he had left was trust. But even as he ran, the guilt hung over him, noose just out of reach of his raw throat. That lifeless body; the deadman's eyes. He'd seen that look once before. He had stared out at him before it had burned and found itself stuffed into an urn.

Lesnar had brought down the weapon, but Roman had been the intended target...it was an accident. But it didn't matter. Not to them.

'Run Roman, run!'

He could hear the sound of hysterics chasing him and leading him. His heavy breath and lead feet slowed him down. They were getting closer, closer, he had to hide. No light to guide him, no candle for his sins. He pushed himself back, back, into the blackness, found a cold stone wall to ease the ache of his back. They'd find him. It was all over.

Here they came.

Hands. They were all over him, on his skin, over his mouth, dragged him struggling back, further into the darkness, down, down, as if he were falling through some void. But the feet moved by, the shouts disappeared as quickly as they passed. Roman's hot breath was loud through his nose, he tried to buck free, but was held down fast. Suddenly, light sparked all around, a dozen or more torches held high, all beamed down on him. A familiar hand reached down and heaved him up, and the childlike eyes of Mick Foley stared up at him...was that adoration, or fear?

'You made it! You fool...what you did...they will have you...could have ruined everything, but you lived...I'll dismantle the casket.'

'Mick I need to get to Dean...what's going on?'

'Welcome to the Halls of Fame Roman Reigns.'

'The Halls of...what? Who's that?'

A voice he knew. His eyes were narrow as someone came forward out of the blinding light with arms crossed. He wasn't tall, but built strong, with hard eyes and a tangle of hair almost as wild as Foley's.

'You don't remember me Reigns?'

Oh he remembered; every single battle to take him down. How he'd popped out of the woodwork, how the Game had ordered him to be eradicated like vermin. He remembered taking him down, taking him out, watching from afar as another failed hero was buried in the graveyard. It seemed he'd dug himself deeper than death.

'Daniel Bryan.'


	25. What Matters To Me

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM, KENNEDY**

The clock on that wall spoke to him; its arms stretched out like some bastard had stapled the poor soul in place through the heart. Time: it had always puzzled him. Who controlled it? They all ran by what the needles said, what label was stuck on the pill pot. The slop of today's shit feast as it slapped the plastic trays, cleaned after every 'meal' and re-used, each patient with their very own. Did anyone ever look at the time? Did they care? Was their time the swallow and spit, was their time the piss brought on by the special juice, was it when they gathered in their circles to talk about yesterday's news and years old feelings which happened twenty four hours before? He sat, and he stared at that clock, his eyes hooded, head tilted up a little, mouth open. Saliva ran from the corner of his lips and he was their statue – a monument to madness. Every second that passed he saw as the third hand twitched to the right.

That was what a second felt like – nothing at all. But they counted up, and it widened his eyes and panicked him how quickly they shot past. Seconds became minutes and within minutes they became hours. His head cocked to one side, observed the infinity long movement of the minute hand. It never stopped; it was only when you watched you saw that. Like the crack in the wall, it was something he'd never seen before. He'd watched time pass a thousand times, but never like this. This time passed even when nothing at all happened. Even as he sat with a vacant stare. The sound – that tick - it was a hammer on slate. It was so loud it made him flinch.

'Penny for your thoughts?'

'I don't know if I'll have any later on.'

She knelt down beside him, and took his hand, she placed it in her lap, and held it delicately with her fingers, studied it with intensity that felt like it was burning him.

'Searching for my future?'

'Remembering what you feel like,' she admitted. AJ bit her lip and looked up to him, one of those hands drifted to his face, moved his crazy hair from those crazy eyes. 'Remembering what you look like.' She leaned in gently, her face to the crook of his neck, nose barely an inch from his skin; her gentle exhalations made hairs stand on end. 'What you smell like,' she moved a finger to his split upper lip and traced it slowly. 'What you sound like, and...' she caught herself, and he found their gazes locked.

'And?'

'What you -,' she leaned in, her eyes dropped to a close; he could damn near hear her heartbeat. It hammered louder than the clock, ticking their precious seconds away. She knew him so well, why take the trouble, the _time_ to memorize him? Her touch bruised, and as she came closer, he was static. Her lips, they looked like someone had blistered them with heat – she'd always been soft before. So soft, he could remember watching her talk, studying those lips. 'What you taste like...'

She was inches away; he could feel her breath on his face, the anticipation as her mouth moved closer, closer to his.

'What happened to you AJ?'

She stopped, 'What?'

'When Regal took you away...when I left, what happened to you?'

'What does it matter? It happened...we're here now Dean. The past is past, the present is _now_. This future you have...it's coming closer and closer and we can't stop it and you want to talk about the _past_?' her long hair flowed over her shoulders, the very passage of time itself, moving further and further away from the point of origin, the very beginning, and drifting, lonely and long through existence, no real purpose, other than to move, to grow, to continue.

'It's what matters to _me_ AJ,' Dean's hand reached out, the rough bud of his index finger against her lower lip, pressed hard, watched how she recoiled back. 'What did he do?'

She sat on her feet, fingers laced in her lap, stared emptily at the wall before her; saw straight through the other bodies. There was no one else in that room apart from her, the white all around a canvas for the memories, the horrors he saw reflected in her eyes.

'He came to find me in my room. Told me something was happening, that people were breaking into St. Jude's, that the orderlies were rounding everyone up. He told me I had to go with him, and that we were in lockdown. I wanted to find you, told him so...but he refused to let me look. I tried to fight him...but the needles found me. I saw lights Dean...they were so pretty above me, but then I saw him too. He _laughed _at me Dean...'

'I don't...'

He stopped. Yes, he did. He saw it all in her face, the way she couldn't look at him, the hand which drifted to her stomach, as if something had been cut out of her long before. A piece of her that was missing.

'AJ...' he pulled her in, a gasp of breath escaped him, he held her close, her head on his shoulder, the world between them forced to compress as their two hearts collided. That was it, the story of the evil which lurked in the halls of St. Jude's. There were no ghosts; there was no madness except in what was inflicted. He knew the devil; he'd tasted his flesh. If he let her go now, she would forever be in the clutches of lunacy, of the nails which tore her skin, the hands which stroked her flesh and her hair. That called her _one of my very favourites_. 'I'll kill him. I'll kill him.'

She shook her head as he rocked her. 'It's the past Dean,' her voice was hollow, 'don't take it personally...it wasn't the first time.'

He became still as stone, as marble, as the entire void that was space. There was no explosion, there was no astronomical bang, nothing but the cold hard truth as it slipped from her tongue and into his ear. The sickening realization was the earth in his gut; he'd never noticed before. He'd never stopped and looked at her, really looked through those brown orbs and seen the agony which hid there, the screaming young woman, violated and damaged. He'd been too selfish to ever see, because he'd wanted all her love for himself, and never thought to give anything back but his loyalty.

'Dean, it's not your fault.' She had him by the shoulders, looked him dead in the eye. 'You have to believe me. None of this is your fault. You understand?' she shook him hard. 'It's not your fault, you've never done anything to hurt me, you've never done anything wrong.'

He couldn't summon words.

'You made it easier, just by being there. You were my distraction, my project, Dean if it weren't for you I would be dead. I'd have let him beat me. I'd have found my way into that special cupboard; I'd have swallowed every single needle, crushed and sniffed every drug. But you reminded me that I had something to be thankful; your friendship, your trust, your goddamn beautiful face, Dean I never forgot you, not a single hair or scar. You stayed with me even when you were gone, and every time it happened, when he crept into my head, you were there too, fighting him off. You're my happiest memory. The brightest spark. To me, Dean, you are colour.'

Salty water rolled down his face, her cheek. Bewilderment settled in his eyes, he couldn't understand, couldn't take it in, and couldn't comprehend. She'd never said so much. But every word had been with so much, like she'd taken her soul and crushed it between her two hands, used the dust to forge every letter.

Seconds, precious seconds were wasted. He couldn't use them to tell her anything, words were caught in his unsuspecting throat that was so dry he thought he might choke. Her admission, her truth, it drove through minutes and ploughed through the drum of that clock. He could feel her against him, her hands as they twisted and gripped the shoulder fabric of his scrubs. Her fear, her loathing, her love, her madness, her brilliant and beautiful insanity, all manufactured by those walls, by the devil in the details.

'Say something,' she whispered, 'please for the love of God say something.'

But there were no words. Nothing he could say could express the turmoil, the bittersweet snap of his heart and mind. He didn't have rational thought, he had emotion. He had a thousand armies behind every sneer and every raised fist; he had a terrified child behind his fear. He had a woman in his arms for the curious and crushing feeling that hurt his heart. She was against him, he held her so tight he didn't want to let go, and when he knew it wasn't enough just to hold her, he pulled away. He saw her.

After all the time they'd shared, and all those precious seconds which had slipped through his rough hands and damaged fingers, all the minutes that had been wasted on shit that didn't matter, and the hours spent fighting battles he thought were worth it, he finally saw her.

'You're red.' He whispered. That was what he saw. He saw scarlet heat and hateful blood, he saw loving crimson and burning spirit. 'You're red and you're war.'

Her lips were battle forged, and their touch was like the full bellied cry of victory. He tasted her tears, felt every piece of old and new skin of her mouth. There was nothing gentle about the truth. Her breath was stale. Her kiss hurt him, but pain was nothing. War; that was life, that was reality beyond the walls where you could see stars in the sky, and you paid for every second you walked the asphalt. You picked your wars, and he'd been through so many for stupid, forgettable reasons, but he memorized her as the door opened, as the men in white poured in, as rough hands gripped him and pulled him back, as she screamed and bucked and kicked and called his name. He found his face pressed against the carpet as the fibres clawed his skin and stitches. They forced on the restraints, held up that shining needle to the light. But a face interrupted those false stars, a sneering, laughing face.

'It's time Mr Ambrose. And I'm so very, very looking forward to this.'

He saw her as the needle went in. He saw her fight. He saw her blistered lips. She was red. She was war. She was red. She was war. She...was red. She was war.

She was red.

She was war.

She was red.

He...they...she...this...this was war.


	26. Let It Be

**((Dun dun dun! It's all go at the moment with the boys, and I hope everyone is keeping track well, and enjoying every single minute! Back to Seth and Renee now for the first time in ages, oh and Lillian. Can't forget the kitty! In this chapter we'll meet some brand new characters, so please enjoy everyone!))**

**ADAMS**

If not for the insistent purring which vibrated next to her head, soft paws padding in her hair and the general nuisance that was a hungry kitty, she might not have woken for several more hours. As it was, when her eyes slithered open, her body stretched and a vast yawn escaped her mouth, daylight streamed through the windows, the storm of the previous night forgotten. Save for the rain stains on the glass, there could have been no indication at all of the tempest. She sat back in her chair, hand to her head where it had been plastered against the wood of the kitchen table for the past nine hours. Nine hours? Really? Well that's what her watch said...better double check. She picked her phone from the table and flicked it to life. There it was, plain as the nose on her face. Two in the afternoon; how had she slept for so long? And so uncomfortably? Why was she even at the table in the first place? She opened and closed her mouth a few times to wet it, and trudged to the kettle. She didn't notice the gloves laid out to its right.

Maybe she should learn to actually go to bed when she was tired...honestly the shifts she was doing she could genuinely fall asleep anywhere these days. The stress of it all was giving her very peculiar dreams. They'd almost felt real. But that couldn't be right, her life wasn't nearly as exciting as what she'd dreamed of; of monsters and men and frying pans and warehouses. Maybe she should have written it all down so she didn't forget a single detail – you could make a decent living out of books these days, and hadn't she wanted to be a journalist all these years? Finally, the kettle boiled. There was a thunk as she pulled an old red and white polka dotted mug from the cupboard and slapped it onto the work surface. She didn't measure out the coffee with a spoon, instead, still half asleep, she shook what looked like enough into the mug. Pour water – yawn. Absently she stirred it, not even concentrating. If she had, she would have noticed that she was being watched.

With both hands wrapped around the mug, she collapsed back into the chair, cup onto the table. All over it were scraps of paper which looked like they'd been assaulted by a lunatic with a BIC biro. She sifted through them, barely seeing, barely registering until she picked up one in particular. Her forehead fell into a tired frown, tried to remember where she'd seen that handsome face before – hm, nothing came to mind. She put it down again. Bed. Maybe she'd just go to bed now, sleep off the rest of the day until her shift that night. Yes...that was a plan she liked the sound of. Somehow managing to grip the mug once again, she stood, accidentally knocked that drawing of a face she thought she knew, to the floor, and lumbered out of the kitchen. The door was shut to her bedroom, which was odd in itself because she never closed the door. Lillian pawed at it, clearly not as hungry as she'd been five minutes prior.

'Wanna have a nap with mama baby, hmm?' Renee muttered sleepily, only just managing to stoop and stroke the cats back without losing the entire contents of the mug. She pushed down the handle, and paused.

How strange. She turned around with a frown. She'd just had the most peculiar feeling...almost as if...as if someone had been standing behind her. But of course there was no one there, she was just being silly, not over that dream of hers was all. It had been rather terrifying in places. With a shove, the door opened and she and the cat slipped inside. The covers of her bed were bunched up on one side, clearly from where she'd thrown them aside yesterday. She popped the mug on the bedside table. Clumsily, she started to heave her clothes off. It took far too long and she was getting frustrated by the time she managed to strip. Naked, she quickly hopped into the bed and tugged the covers over her. She nestled her head into the pillow, eyes closed, grateful to whoever invented mattresses.

The covers tugged.

Not really thinking, she tugged back, harder. Her covers. Hers.

'Give a guy a break.'

Her eyes shot open. That voice. It triggered two responses. The very first was the sudden remembrance of the man in the drawing, of long hair and dripping rain, of carnage in _Mama's_, of his smile, of driving through a storm, of fighting a big red monster. The remembrance of dragging a broken and ill man into her home, and of tucking him into her bed. The second was complete and utter embarrassment.

Her mouth was open wide as she felt something shift behind her. It curled against her back, a hand thrown protectively over her. She froze, tried to find some words but nothing came to mind. What did she do? How did she get out of this? Perhaps another time it would have been something she would have welcomed. But she was naked! There was no where this would go beyond mortifying.

'Seth?'

'Mhmm.'

'I don't want to alarm you.'

'Mhmm?'

'But I'm naked.'

He didn't move for a moment, as if trying to process her words directly to his half asleep brain. It was almost as if he hadn't heard her, because after a full minute, he hadn't so much as twitched, let alone made to let her go. If anything he seemed to move a little closer; but there was nothing sexual about how he moulded around her – it was almost as if he were using her as a hot water bottle, trying to steal what heat she had for himself.

'Seth.'

'Yes Renee?' his mouth was half hidden by pillow and it was hard to hear him, but he didn't seem to care.

'This is very awkward for me right now.'

'Ignore it. It'll go away.'

'I don't think it will, it seems to be enjoying my bed too much.'

She paused, brought her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly. The strangeness of the entire situation wasn't lost on her, but one presiding thought pushed itself to the very front of her brain.

'How are you today?'

'Slept good...could use a lot more.' He muttered, he almost sounded irritated with her for interrupting him. She would have kicked him, and even readied herself to swing her foot back, but then remembered the list of injuries from the night before.

'Do you hurt?'

'Ache, my hand...it's killing me.'

She looked up and over. Laying on top of the covers, and over her, was that broken hand. It looked almost worse in the daylight. But now, as she stared at those fingers, they looked to be fractured, as if they'd been popped out of socket as opposed to smashed. She was no nurse, and she wasn't about to call her Ma to come all the way down from Ajax. For one it was a long way and for two how would she explain all of this? She couldn't. Not without revealing the boys story in grisly detail.

'Maybe...I should get out of the bed.'

But to her complete surprise, he shook his head. 'I'm comfy.'

'But I'm naked.'

'Does it...bother you? Doesn't bother...me.'

She actually smiled a little at that, and as if to complete the bizarre arrangement, Lillian jumped up onto the bed, and curled herself up next to Renee. 'This is really strange.'

'Only if you let it be.'

'Don't you dare tell Roman about this Seth. I mean it.'

'Why not?'

'Because it's mortifying that's why. He'll think I'm some sexual predator something, preying on the wounded.'

He didn't answer that. Instead, he breathed in deeply, exhaled – his breath tickled the back of her neck. So this was what it was like to share her bed with a man. She'd almost forgotten. The last time had been...well she didn't want to think about that. More than five...more than six years; but was that her fault? She didn't think so; she'd just always had other things on her mind. She hadn't had sex since she was twenty two years old.

Oh dear God.

Some sexual predator she was. But it set her mind to thinking, of how good it felt to have his arm over her, how he was behind her, holding her gently, even with his injuries. It was like he actually cared, wanted her to be there. But as she closed her eyes once again, settled against him, a face flashed through her thoughts. A strong jaw, and long black hair, eyes like a summer storm; Renee couldn't forget him. Even then. It was like he'd burned himself onto her subconscious.

'Hey Seth?'

'Mhm?'

'I got a text from Roman last night.'

That got his attention. All of a sudden his demeanour shifted, his head came up from the pillow and he tried to sit up. The covers finally hers, she pulled them up to cover her breasts as she turned to look at him properly.

'What...did it say?' you could tell he was still in a lot of pain, but the concern for his brother overtook his own welfare. 'Has he found Dean? Is he alright?'

'He said he had to fight in the underground for a chance to get to him.'

The innocence of her words perhaps saved him. If she'd known what she was talking about, perhaps he would have flown off the handle. But instead, he sunk back down into that bed, face sullen. His good hand went to his forehead and rubbed it gently.

'Out of the frying pan, into hell,' He glanced across at her, at how she sat, one arm out, hand on the pillow to keep her upright, the other hand holding the covers to save her modesty. She looked at him, perplexed, that golden hair of hers tumbling over one shoulder. 'Do you know of the underground arenas in Kennedy?'

She shook her head, and turned in her spot to grab her coffee, before returning her full attention to him.

'There's a fight organization, run by...a man named Antonio Cesaro. You might know him.'

'He's a regular at _Mama's_...that's the diner where I work – well, where I did. I doubt he'll go there anymore mind...I may have smashed his face with a tea pot last night.'

Seth smirked. 'Heh, would have paid money to see that...these fights...they're brutal. Done for money, Dean used to take part...he never...submitted once. People die in those fights Renee.'

Her eyes widened and she swallowed scolding hot coffee and didn't even notice the burn on her tongue.

'Roman! Do you think he's alright?'

'I don't know. Rome's...no push over. But he's never fought tactfully before; he's pure power, not discipline.'

Renee bit her lip. 'I...I should go find him.'

'No.' Seth shook his head. 'I need you here. Roman will...be alright. I know he will. He'll find Dean...we'll all be together again, soon.'

'How do you know?'

His eyes closed and his head fell deep into the pillow, the conversation clearly exhausting him.

'I don't, but I believe in them.' with a long breath, it became clear very quickly, that he'd expended everything he had, and had drifted off to try and recharge once again. The curtains were drawn, blocked out the daylight. But they were an inch too short. If Renee had turned toward them, she might have noticed the set of eyes which stared from the gap as she got out of the bed. She dressed fresh and scooped Lillian up from the bed.

She didn't hear as the window snapped open.

The sound of afternoon cereal clinking into a bowl hid the noise as someone came into her house. Milk poured – spoon – munch. She leaned against the kitchen top as she ate, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw those gloves once again. Those _dirty deeds_. For some curious reason, she felt uneasy. The same uncertainty which had made her turn around earlier, found her place the bowl on the side, and pick up those weighted gloves. They felt even heavier now. She stared at them in her hands, then, for no other reason than what clenched her gut, she pulled them on, strapped them into place. They almost felt familiar now.

There was a cracking of china. The slam of something against a wall. The bedroom. She didn't think twice, and darted toward the door. Her heart was in her mouth. The bedroom door was closed again, but she didn't hesitate, bashed her way through. There. Two of them – thin as tree branches, their eyes were wide, their lips painted red. Identical, they hovered over the bed, duct tape in hand. Seth – he was somehow still there, wrists bound in front of him, tape across his mouth, but clearly pissed off rather than afraid.

'Oh Seth, you found yourself a pet! How sweet.' The nearest was slightly more muscular than her sister, but she had venom in her eyes that made Renee feel uneasy. She stood straight, bit the inside of her mouth and handed the other her roll. 'I'll deal with this. Prepare our package for travel Brie, what a pretty present he'll be for the boss.'

'You're not taking him anywhere!' Renee spat. She moved into the room, dashed forward, made to swing at the woman, but she moved. Fast. It seemed almost superhuman, and Renee found herself colliding with the window sill, but she managed to turn, tried to get her breath back. The woman stood opposite her, a cruel sickle smile on her mouth. She raised her hand and gestured with two figures toward her.

'Come on princess, fight me.'

Renee wasn't a warrior. She had dumb luck and clumsy feet. She staggered forward and swung once again, narrowly missing as the woman sidestepped the blow. She could hear the unwrap of tape, saw Seth struggle against the remaining twin. His eyes found hers, and she knew that if she didn't stop them, Seth would be out of her hands, and into those of the Game. She regained her footing, turned and threw both fists forward. One just caught the dodging woman's arm, who hissed irritably, her hand rubbed the wound.

'Oh princess, you shouldn't have done that.'

'Guess you'll have to forgive this too then.' Renee kicked out, barely catching the other woman's ankle, it was enough to throw her slightly, and her right hand snaked out. It caught the stomach of her opponent who doubled up a little, stepped back in shock.

'Ha! Ha ha!' Renee near shouted in victory, arms raised. Something smacked the back of her leg, forced her down to one knee. There was the sound of something razor sharp, and Renee found her hair pulled back, throat exposed, something silver at her throat.

'One more move sweetie and your lovely throat will be ruined. Don't tempt me. You alright Nikki?'

'Just peachy. I say we slit her throat now. No point keeping a pointless plain thing like her alive. It'd be kinder to put her out of her misery.' Nikki sauntered forward, a finger under Renee's chin and raised it, she inspected every single inch of the face in front of her. 'Why would someone like _you_ interfere with our business hm? Don't you know it could get you killed? Mr Rollins here is ours, just like his handsome friend and the crazy one. We'll be rewarded well for bringing in Sethie here. Oh yes. He's the last piece of the puzzle. After tonight, he'll be the only one left.'

Renee's eyes narrowed. 'What are you talking about?'

'Roman's being hunted as we speak,' Brie giggled into her ear. 'And Dean? All prepped for the operating table, they're going to take his brain. And there's nothing any of you can do to stop it. There's not one man alive who can save the Shield now.'


	27. Beyond The Shield

**THE HALLS OF FAME, KENNEDY**

'I remember sticking you in a six foot hole in the rain.'

'Just as well; if it had been warm I might have stayed sleeping.' He had aged, perhaps the effect of being thrown into an early grave. His hair was long, beard matted, his eyes distant. But there was something else, a gritty determination that had been missing before. Their last encounter had been bloody, but three against one had proven good odds for the Hounds. The upstart had drawn the Game's attention through his insistent, though hazardous friendship with Kane, from there, he'd broken away and started to gain popularity with the other city wasters. To begin with it hadn't been his antics with the big red monster – then, he'd been within control, it was his audacity to split from the Authority's influence. He now more resembled goat than human being, as if someone had dug up eight graves and made up one body. 'You didn't stop to check I was dead.'

'Shouldn't have had to. We broke your neck.' Roman prided himself on having the general ability to sound far calmer than he actually felt. Being confronted with a ghost from the past was one thing, what he was handling worse was the fact that they were having a civil conversation about it.

'You did. I got better.'

'So I see. This has been very interesting Bryan, but you're wasting my time. Dean needs me, and I'm not about to give you anymore of the seconds that he doesn't have.' Roman made to shove past the smaller man, but found a palm flat against his chest, there was a lot of power behind it, and halted him.

'I won't keep you long; and I think you'll find what I have to say very interesting indeed.'

'I doubt it.'

'There's a woman.'

'There always is.'

'Blond, petite, Canadian, smile like the sun through the clouds.'

Roman's eyes instinctively narrowed, he didn't like Bryan's tone...and knew he was talking about Renee. She'd not been at the forefront of his mind during the fight, but now he found himself wondering about her safety – had she found Seth? Were they both alive? He'd left her in the worst of circumstances. The poor woman had been pulled headlong into this mess, and he couldn't imagine how she was coping. But he'd seen it in those diamond eyes of hers; she was strong, so very strong, and her memory alone caused his mouth to tense into an uncertain, but very small, smile.

'She's caring for your friend.'

'Don't be angry Roman,' Mick suddenly cut in, a hand on his arm, eyes wide up at Roman, asking forgiveness without words. 'I found this,' from the pocket of his off white scrubs he pulled out a piece of paper, such as you'd find in waitresses' notebook, 'it fell out of your pocket when you were in the changing bunker.'

'We thought it would be important, so we sent a pair of eyes ahead of your fight to look into it.' Bryan explained. His arms were folded, and the coat he wore seemed too big for him, the hood alone looked like it could encapsulate his entire head. It was almost strange – there appeared to be little, to no malice in his voice; as if he'd forgiven what they'd done to him. 'From what's been reported back to us, Mr Rollins is not in the best of shape; Mick has volunteered to head to their location to help care for him. He's the closest to a doctor we have and none of us are dead yet.'

Roman couldn't help but nod, but he knew by agreeing he was placing everything in the hands of the man in front of him. A quick glance about found other faces in the lamplight, faces he thought they'd put down. A couple of them bobbed their heads to him in recognition, some refused to even look him in the eye, and one, who lurked near the back of the group, was turned away completely, eyes in the opposite direction – a scout perhaps. But there was something in how he would turn his head slightly, to glance at him out of the corner of his eye, before returning to the black, which caught Roman's attention. He didn't like that look.

'I need to get to St. Jude's – fast. Dean doesn't have much time.'

'He has more than you may think. We've been watching you Roman Reigns, your brothers too. Dean is not alone in that bedlam. I have men already in position. We have minutes to get there before we go in. There will be one chance, and one chance alone to save your friend Reigns. No fuck ups. I won't risk my people anymore than is necessary.'

'And our lives are necessary are they?'

'For now. Yes.'

'That word – I heard it through the ground. Over, and over.'

'People have forgotten the power of words, Reigns. They're so keen to stay out of the way and to stay out of calamity that they're willing to agree with everything they're told, to do what is said by the Authority. They're so used to _no_. No freedom. No chance. Imagine, if everyone in this God forsaken city started to say _yes_. Think what could be achieved if everyone was united.'

'You're in a dream world Bryan. I just want Dean, then we'll be gone.'

'See, that's always been your problem. You've never been able to see the bigger picture; foresight as long as your nose and that's it. You can't see beyond the Shield.'

'And that's as far as I need to. Are you helping me get to Dean, or am I busting jaws to get you out of my way?' his teeth gritted, knuckles cracked. He was beat down and beat up but he wasn't out of the game just yet. He'd managed to progress through the insanity by himself, and he'd carry on that way if he had to. He eyed Daniel Bryan wearily. He talked a pretty picture, but revolutions and dreams died in Kennedy. Any shot in the dark was blocked, any light dimmed. The Authority may not have had their Hounds anymore, but the damage had long been done. There were still enough loyal to the suited bastards to cause fear and misery.

For a second, Bryan looked at him hard in that torchlight. His hand rubbed his thick beard, his tired eyes were pitted shadows. There was no love lost between them. But there seemed to be a plan in the old goat's head. Roman could almost hear the cogs slowly turning and his irritation levels climbed higher and higher.

'We'll lead the way. Mick, head to Adams. I have a feeling our mutual friend will be glad of the assistance. Watching pretty women from a distance has never been his forte. In fact...you'll probably be helping her

Roman didn't even see him turn, and he was gone. Footsteps scattered in all directions – eyes not impeded by the dark. His own feet pounded against the concrete. Breath was heavy, ribs ached. It seemed like minutes of chasing shadows when he came to a halt, hand wrapped around his stomach, hand on his knees. Each breath was like someone was throwing their whole weight against his lungs. In the blinding dark, it felt as if he were drowning. He couldn't keep up.

'I remember you chasing me for hours through the streets above us once.'

To his surprise, there was Bryan, just close enough to be seen.

'What happened to you Reigns?'

'You not see what happened back there?'

'Not that. You seem so _scared_. You were always so unafraid; you and your boys were fearless, but now all I see is a little kid, terrified of everything and everyone.'

He didn't have the strength to fight him. The words cut through harsher than Renee's slap. Any response stuck to his tongue. Humans were sick. Humans were born afraid. But Bryan didn't understand that when you relied so much on other people to keep you safe, to keep you strong they became your religion. He needed them to blunt his sins, he needed them to be his church – that place he felt safest. He needed their hands and their words for reassurance. They were his absolution – more than family. Without his brothers, Roman Reigns was nothing. He forced himself up from his doubled over position. He finally looked straight into the dulled eyes of Daniel Bryan, the dead man walking. He'd met a few of them. He wasn't afraid of zombies.

'Just take me to Dean.'

Clearly unsatisfied with the answer, Bryan pitched off into the darkness once again. This time Roman managed to hit a stride, his breath came heavy. Every dark hall seemed the same, the brick patterns chiselled away by a lifetime and hardened hands, teeth, claws. This was where the dead came, this was the underworld. Dean would have loved these hallowed corridors, would have found his way like a rat in the sewers. The cold rolled off his bruised torso, licked at his wounds. He was not beaten by the _Beast_. He wouldn't be beaten by himself and his own weakness.

There was a fire inside of his heart and the lactic acid was burning, but the _fear_, oh God that _fear_. It tasted worse than any blood of bile, and it was what fuelled him. It drove him forward, heading toward that cliff edge, ready to throw himself off and through the abyss. Bryan was right. He was scared. Dean was falling further and further away and he was fucking terrified he wouldn't get to him in time, that those precious seconds were falling through the gaps between his fingers no matter how hard he clenched them. His hair was caught by that cold, and it pinked his face and bit his skin.

He near slammed straight into the still form of Daniel Bryan as he fell back into view; Roman dug his feet into the ground and slid to an abrupt halt. Bryan held a finger to his lips, his other hand hovered over an old rusted handle – the door to the boiler room. All around he could hear shouting, hurried footsteps. The other members of Bryan's party were still being chased by the Game's men. It was luck alone that had left them undiscovered. Slowly, Bryan caught a hold of the handle and pulled it down, tugged. It didn't come away. Again he tried, but nothing. Roman shoved him aside, took the handle and heaved. With a dull thud it jerked open. Quickly, they slipped inside, but before the door could close, someone else forced their way inside. His hood was pulled low, but Roman _knew_ it was the one from earlier, who'd lurked at the back of the huddle. He made to speak to him, but Bryan shook his head urgently. Silently they moved through the boiler room, through cobwebs and dust covered walls. It was thick and warm.

'Here.'

Steps, barely tread save for a light set of footsteps which had hurried down – Mick. The lights were old and flickered, Bryan walked up quietly, and paused a few steps from the top. His eyes were down, glued to a watch at his wrist. Roman stood uneasy behind him, wondering just what they were waiting for. At the bottom stood that lone figure, who watched from the shadows of that hood.

'Five...four...three...two...one.'


	28. Together

**((Thank you everyone for your continued support, we're finally getting closer and closer to a Shield reunion. I'm grateful to everyone for sticking with the story, and for letting me know what they think! Please continue to review, your comments are such a boost!))**

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM, KENNEDY**

Who knew that the world could swim? It seemed too; that sickening haze which bobbed and ducked in front of him. It felt as if his eyes had been replaced with candle wax, slowly melting, stretching and compressing everything. Things always seemed brighter when they gave him that most special of candy – that precious ketamine. What would they do without such a rich dose? Would they have dragged him kicking and screaming and biting and laughing toward that operating room? What did they do with people...when there was no candy to give? How did you calm that tantrum throwing child without bribery? Forced bribery – Dean never could recall him begging them to force that thick needle through his skin, to make his senses swim.

So this was how Dean Ambrose ended. It seemed such a sweet symphony – no, bittersweet, like the pretty edge of a knife carving into young skin. He should have known that he'd find himself on one of their beds long enough, strapped in so that you couldn't escape the fun ride home. He swung his head from side to side, movements drunk as a snake. He could taste their intent. The way they held him up, hands under his armpits, not caring for where he looked or for what he said. There was no comfort for Dean Ambrose on the way to nowhere. He'd been a bad boy. Bad boys were punished.

There was a strange ritual about it all. The other inmates were held against the walls; all of them out of their rooms, stood like ghosts all morbid and the like as they watched one of their fellows head to the brain room. Others had gone before, and others would follow. He wondered if anyone here would remember him.

Would his brothers know?

That was the question. He'd almost forgotten their existence the short time he'd been locked in the box. The walls melted the outside world to merely a dream. He could see the faces of Seth, of Roman on every prone body he was dragged past. They stared at him with every expression – some laughed, some cried, others seemed angry, heartbroken, caught in the throes of despair. He knew those faces – he'd worn them himself. He could remember each and every one as they left him alone. He'd picked bullets from his skin with a rusty fork, found so called 'surgeons' to lend him duct tape until he infected or healed over.

Was that what he was? An infection – he was a virus. He spread himself through the veins of the corrupt and the cruel. There was evil printed in every brick of the building and in every atom of the men who ran it. Would Regal come along and play surgeon? Cut him open with a hacksaw? Stamp needles through his tear ducts? Perhaps he'd become some mad experiment. What a monster! What a monster! What monsters slept here? He could be a monster if he wanted – but he wasn't a creation of any man – oh no, oh no – he would be a nightmare of his own choosing, a demon in the dark who played with will and whimsy. Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes.

What a curious noise.

He liked it. The sound of some great war cannon, debris falling, people screaming. Visions of dust and blood darted by and he felt himself stop, the orderlies holding him confused and dazed. His vision was tuckered and his heart not much better, these were such amazing scenes. Perhaps they were his last dreams – he could wander on through and imagine all this death and all this insanity.

_Oh insanity_ – it had found him at last.

Dean liked the sight of it and how it tasted – it tasted like gasoline, like explosions and lit matches. The panic – it was static in his ears but he remembered it well. The screams and the injured – it felt like he'd fallen back through history and landed in the pits once again. Smoke, thick clouds of dust ran the corridors. The orderlies who held him finally decided to move. They pulled him on, past the crying wounded.

Another cannon blast; it shot from the door to his left. It launched straight off its hinges, shattered in thin air – a slowed down ballet, just for his wild eyes – speared into anyone who had the misfortune to stand in its way. His left side hit the floor, and finally truly abandoned – he was left alone, pieces of wall crumbling all around him. He could feel his face against the linoleum. Was his brain still there? Were his fingers still working? Enough time, enough effort, just a few precious seconds – he'd been given them back then and there. Each thick heartbeat was another one past. He felt freedom as the cuffs fell apart. Feet, bodies, frantic, afraid, they dashed past, away from the blasts which blew out walls, doors, glass. He felt like a painting, colours blurred as he somehow found himself on his feet. Unsteady. So very unsteady, he held his hands out, balance – balance in this dream.

Everything was so slow. The drugs gave him _Matrix_ vision. He started to walk, through the rubble, past the fallen. He knew these walls in their disrepair.

There – a patch of darkness up ahead. He stood clothed and face hidden, hood low, something cylindrical, wired in his hand. He didn't see Dean – why would he? He was moving through time and space – some alien in familiar landscape – maybe they'd already taken his brain; now he was just floating through reality. Dean moved closer, closer, bare footed, not feeling pain as shrapnel and pieces of glass cut his feet. Just feet away, close enough to touch, he stopped stared at the man.

Bomb in hand.

'What are you supposed to be?' Dean's voice sounded alien – slow, like the world. He reached out a hand to throw that hood back, but the stranger moved, threw the devise through an open door. Dean only heard the explosion; the force hit him later. When he found himself falling through the air, to land half choked among the carnage, eyes wide up to that white sky that ruined itself with smoke; so this was his mind. This was what insane men dreamed.

It wasn't so bad.

'Dean?'

Yes; he was Dean. Dean Ambrose – a name he'd been given from birth by a woman who cared so much that she drowned herself.

'Dean?'

Dean Ambrose – a wild street rat, untamed and mistreated, tagged and leashed and thrown into a box. Found by a little girl, tempered and sweetened by her trust. He became a man in her hands.

'Dean!'

Dean Ambrose – friend, brother, loyal protector. A vicious fighter, bloodthirsty, cruel in kindness and necessary in violence; he was the ruthless dog that licked the loving hand and bit those who tried to hold him back.

Lost in the blank space; he'd almost forgotten it all.

'Dean, Dean!'

He thought he heard a voice. It seemed familiar – perhaps he'd died on that operating table, and wandered into purgatory. Was he now a witness to the idiocy and fuck it all of everyone else? He swore he knew that voice. It belonged to someone he used to know. A handsome fucker with a mug that made the women swoon, with dark eyes that calmed him without a word being said; a heart so full that it ran him through, arms to crush or to control – yes he remembered that voice.

The ceiling was getting fucking dirty now.

Hands clutched the sides of his head, God his fucking head, and a face came into view through the haze and the dust and the smoke. He knew that face. He knew the handsome fucker with a mug that made the women swoon – who'd give their right ovary to be that close.

'Dean.'

He'd not heard relief before. It was nice. Someone was pleased to see him. 'Dean you fucking asshole say something.'

'Boobs?'

Laughter – he knew that laugh. It was husky, pleasant, deep – sounded like someone who could tell excellent jokes at dinner parties. It sounded like the laugh which had sent many people to early eternal sleeps, back when evil was a hobby. He saw him clearly, hand up through the air to touch the rock solid jaw and the tired eyes.

'Brother?'

'Dean it's Roman, I found you. I found you and I'm getting you out of here.'

'What a fine idea, couldn't have come up with better.'

He felt himself leave the ground, his arm slung around strong shoulders. Eyes looked this way and that, saw the hooded stranger lurk close by, keep watch. Another – shorter, appeared to the left of the juggernaut who held him up; why did he look like a goat?

'Reigns we have to go – we have to go now!' said the goat.

'Blaaaa,' Dean bleated. Smug, he allowed himself to be walked a meter, then two. But he had to stop. Something was calling him. He could hear it among the ruins. It echoed throughout the halls, back through the smoke. He couldn't leave.

_I'm not leaving you here again. You saved me once. It's time for me to return the favour._

'AJ!'

'Dean come on we have to go!'

'AJ!' He pulled against the arms which held him back. He couldn't, he wouldn't leave her. He'd broken his promise once. He couldn't do it again. She'd done so much, she'd saved him. She'd been everything within the walls – now they were tumbling down. Now he had to lay it on the line.

Regal had handed him the gun. He had the power now in his two hands. He had to use it. He would let her see those stars. Strength, numb, stupid determined strength pulled him free. He staggered, ran as best as he could, balance shifting like the foundations of the sanitarium. This could have been a dream.

Was this his mind breaking as they forced their way in?

Whatever was happening, he wasn't going without her. If they took his consciousness; his last act would be to set her free.

'Dean!'

'We have to go Reigns!'

'I'm not leaving without him!'

Footsteps followed him, could have easily caught up as he clung to whatever he could for support, sweet ketamine still blocking his brain. His legs moved only from instinct, fingers led him blindly through a different landscape.

'AJ!' his arm up to his eyes to try and block the dust; it stuck to the back of his throat and made him cough, hack, bile rising. 'AJ!'

'Dean!'

Was that her? Was that him? Too many voices messing with his mind but he'd invited them all in. He'd brought every single vampire through his door and opened every tin of worms. He'd let all of this happen; this was the consequence of his actions. It was devastating, it was beautiful, but he couldn't handle it. There was too much beauty in this destroyed world. He caught rubble, nearly fell, but that reassuring hand was on his shoulder once again, hitched him back up.

'Dean -,'

'I can't leave her Rome, I can't fucking leave her. I promised I'd take her away. I promised we'd leave here together.' He couldn't keep it together. 'I have to find her.'

Roman, the big man, his brother held him upright, held his pieces together, hesitated, but nodded.

'We'll find her Dean, together.'

'Reigns!' the goat's threat echoed but didn't matter. Dean felt his heavy heart _drip drip drip_; so this was relief. It was a warm feeling, kinda fuzzy. Finally – after so fucking long, even in this madness, this very physical chaos and his own shattered Wonderland, Dean felt safe; in the arms of his brother.


	29. Close Enough To Cut

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM, KENNEDY**

Dean led the way as best he could through the destruction; all the while he called her name, lost in the madness which gripped him. Roman had never seen such haunted determination in his brother's eyes. He was dogged, possessed – this woman, she'd gripped Dean's very soul in a way he'd never seen before. It was like he was addicted, sniffing through the ruins, turning over every stone just for a glimpse of her. Roman followed, willing after it all, to sacrifice every single minute that they had for Dean. He'd taken so much, been through it all just to see his brother once again –it almost hurt that as soon as they'd been reunited, Dean had turned away from him, in favour of someone else. Who could mean as much to them...as each other? But he knew this was Dean's personal eternity; that hell selected just for him.

If, this AJ existed, if she lived, he would carry her from the rubble himself. Because if she'd kept Dean safe, if she'd kept him as sane as she could for the time he'd been there, Roman owed her everything. Dean was unstable, he was unsure, anything that could solidify him, make him unbreakable was more precious than any shining metal.

'AJ!'

It was near impossible to navigate. The hooded man's bombs had blown near all the walls on the eastern side...and Roman dreaded to think of what might have slept beneath the rubble. He'd seen people screaming and streaked with blood, blinded by the dust. He'd seen unmoving bodies half buried. Was it worth it? This couldn't have all been for them...there was too much malice, too much wanton decimation. Bryan hadn't told him everything; had just seen a desperate man, had plucked him from the darkness and flung him into this sin splattered world. He knew, that Bryan would tell him he owed him. And he did – he knew without his help in the Halls, he would have been found. He wouldn't have gotten to Dean in time. Without Daniel Bryan, the Shield would have been doomed to fail.

Roman clambered over rubble which Dean darted over with surprising ease; whether it was the effects of the drugs in his system, or just pure adrenaline, he didn't know. But he could hear the fear growing in his brother's voice each and every time he called out her name. Roman stopped, stared around him as best he could. Breathing was becoming as difficult as seeing, and he raised a hand to smudge away the thick dust which blocked an unbroken door. A golden name plate winked back at him, told him this had been the office of someone important.

He thought he knew the name.

_Commissioner William Regal_

Well where was the good commissioner now? Had he run away from his bewildered flock the instance the bombs hit? Roman couldn't see anyone now in a fancy suit. The white walls were speckled with dust and rock and brick. The shattered splinters of the wall painted everywhere, and it was hard to believe that there had been so much earth squashed between those white painted surfaces. There was little white to see now.

Dean's off grey blended well with the dust smoke.

'AJ! Where are you? It's me! AJ!'

It was the voice of a man who'd lost everything. The sound of a widower at a grave, the sound of a soldier holding his dying brother. It was the sound of Roman's too old heart. Every time he thought he was close enough to fixing it all, to gathering all the pieces and bringing them safely back together, something happened, his efforts thwarted. Behind he could still hear Bryan shouting for him – warning him that the Authority would be there soon, that they had to leave whilst they still had time, whilst they still had a chance. But his heart was breaking at the child in Dean's voice. That terrified little boy that was never far from Dean's eyes.

'Dean...we need to go,' he could see his brother in the distance, still as stone; a piece of slate jutting from the ground. 'Before they come Dean. Dean?'

But it was as if he'd become a ghost, unheard. There was no reaction in Dean's body; no sign he'd heard him. Roman moved slowly closer, and when there was nothing between them, his hand fell on Dean's shoulder. But nothing; no recognition.

'Dean?'

Roman had only seen him, but now, as he looked where his brother looked, he saw. Eyes squinted through the slowly settling clouds, someone stood. They were different to everything else – blue. The only colour in the whole of the building wasn't alone. He could see it now. Two bodies; grey painted against that suit. Dean stared, Roman could feel the cold coming off him in waves. Fear had reached its ultimate possibility, and you could see the icy sweat that ran down Dean's bone white face. His eyes were wide, mouth open, and when Roman could see for sure, he felt his own body turn to stone.

There stood a man, he held a woman so very tight. Too tight.

'So it comes to this Dean!' the man shouted. His face was bloody; strips of skin peeled from his cheeks...pieces of flesh fell away with every word. But he laughed, repetitive, cruel to the ear, a sound which made Roman's bones shake. 'I wonder what will you do now? Will you run? Will you run run run away from me again? Will you Dean? I never wanted you to leave, what do I have to do to make you stay in my fun house Dean? What do I have to do to make you all stay?' there was something held against the woman's throat, something sharp; glass from one of the windows. 'I never did anything wrong Dean, I just did as I was told.' He sounded so earnest, so confused as to why his good behaviour had such consequences. 'You can't leave me Dean. What will I do? Who will I talk to? What games can I play on my own? NONE.' his voice echoed. The woman...AJ...tensed. Her arms were by her sides, long hair trailed down, tears dripped over her cheeks, but her eyes saw only Dean.

'AJ...it's ok, I'm here.' Dean implored, hands reached out to her, he made to take a step forward, but Regal tightened the glass. AJ gasped as it nicked her throat.

'No closer Dean! Don't come any closer! I won't lose all of you Dean! She's my very favourite Dean! You can't have her!' he held the girl closer, as if he were hugging her from behind, like a child would a doll. His nose buried itself in her hair. 'She's mine.' His voice almost seemed husky, eyes closed as he took in her scent. Roman felt physically sick. Dean tried to step again but the man's eyes shot open once again. He started to pull her backward. 'Stay away Dean!'

'Dean -,' she whimpered.

'AJ -,'

'I want you both. We can play together Dean...just the three of us. Like old times. We don't need this house. We can find somewhere new. We can all be together if you come along. We'll be one big happy family again.'

Another attempted step, the glass was held threateningly forward. 'Don't you dare move Dean!'

'AJ it's ok, we're going to get out of this,' Dean whispered. 'I'll get you away from here, like I promised.'

But AJ shook her head. The tears fell a thousand feet.

'Go Dean,'

'No.'

'Please, don't worry about me. Just go.'

'I'm not leaving you!'

'Go Dean. Please Dean. Leave me here Dean, shut up!' Regal roared in her ear, brought the glass back. 'Keep quiet AJ. Shush. Let the men talk.' A dribble of blood ran down her neck.

Dean jolted forward, but AJ's cry stopped him in his tracks. They were so close. He could almost reach out and touch her. Roman felt like he was suspended in time watching this entire scene with no control over the outcome. It was as if he didn't exist – like Dean had forgotten him completely. Was it these broken walls? Everything screamed isolation – even the screams and cries of the other humans was lost. In this piece of time, it was their short fragment.

'Regal, give her to me...to Roman. You can have me. Let her go,' Dean pleaded. 'I'll do whatever you want, we'll play every single game. You can cut my hair and you can take my pieces and give me new ones. Please. Please just let her go. You've had her long enough.'

Regal seemed to brighten, his mouth tugged into a smile, but half his lip fell away. He was burning to pieces as he stood. But he didn't seem to know. He was burned beyond life, but he continued to breathe, to beat, to cause such misery. 'You'll play with me Dean? Like we did before?'

'Just like before.' Dean's voice was breaking. 'Just let her go.'

'Come here.' Regal moved forward, 'you come here, close, close, close enough to cut you.'

Dean moved with obedience.

'Dean don't -,'

But Dean only hesitated a second, looked over his shoulder toward his brother. 'You look after her for me Roman. You understand? You'll do everything in the world to keep her safe. To make her happy.'

'Dean.'

'Promise me Rome.'

'I – I promise.'

It seemed to be enough for Dean. He took those cruel steps forward. His scrubs were ripped, his feet were bloody. But he didn't falter.

'Dean,'

'It's alright AJ. Everything is going to be alright.' He was so close. Regal in his excitement released AJ, who threw herself at Dean; the momentum turned them round, Dean's eyes to Roman. Her arms wrapped around him, so tight. She clung to him, moulded to him as if she were a physical part of him. Her sobs hurt. Her tears stung. 'It's ok, don't cry, you're going outside AJ. You're going to see the stars.'

'I don't need the stars, I don't need them, I always saw them in your eyes. Dean don't let him have you, don't do this for me.'

'I've run away long enough.' He whispered; his forehead on hers. 'It's time I repaid you for everything you did. Roman will look after you.'

'I love you Dean.' She gripped hold of his scrubs. 'You're my last piece and I don't want to lose you. You're my everything. I love you. I love you so much.'

Dean kissed her forehead. She couldn't see the tears that ran.

'You love him? You loved him and not me? After all I did for you? After all we've done? AJ, AJ what are you saying?' Regal's flesh tore away as he scrapped his nails down it in confusion and despair, eyelid came free as he stared. 'How can you say that? How can you...you love him? He left you! I NEVER LEFT YOU.'

He moved. But so did AJ. She seemed to know. She turned him once again. Gasped.

'AJ?' Dean's eyes widened in panic. 'What...what have you done?'

Regal stepped back, hands bloody. Fear tattooed the bloody tatters of his face.

'I didn't leave. Won't leave. Got to leave. I've got to leave.' The coward, the rotten corpse struggled away, limped into dust as AJ's legs gave way.

'AJ...what's happening?' Dean's hands refused to let go, figures explored the blood which swelled through her scrubs, found the glass that punctured through. 'AJ why did you...you can't. Don't do this. Come on girl, we have to go, we really have to go.'

She looked at him, her hand on his face, 'I see the stars Dean. I always saw them with you.'

'I'll take you to see the real stars AJ, we'll see the sky and the moon, I'll take you so far away you'll see the sun.'

'The sun...I remember the sun.' she smiled at him. Happiness in those eyes as they died.

'No...AJ. AJ, come on.' Dean tried to shake her. 'AJ COME ON.'

'Dean...' Roman moved closer, tried to put a hand on his shoulder.

'STAY AWAY.' Dean roared. He clutched her so close, like he was scared to let go. Like he was trying to force her through him straight into his body; like he was trying to push her into his heart. There were no words. Nothing could be said. The remnants of St. Jude's halls echoed with the sound of Dean's broken heart. 'You'll see stars; I promise you'll see those fucking stars.'


	30. This, Is An Intervention

**((I'm sorry to those who may have been a little upset in the last chapter, but sadly the world these boys live in is not a pretty one, it's gritty and it's dangerous. I want to thank you all for reading, and to let you know that this story is nowhere near done! Please continue to let me know what you think; I do so love reading your reviews!))**

**ADAMS**

The panic in Seth's eyes was clear. The very thought of Dean heading for the operating table was enough to make him buckle against his sticky bonds. But he was hurt, and every movement caused sweat.

'Oh stop it Seth. You should have known it would happen eventually. Your pet dog has always been rabid. It's better to put him down gently. Don't you think? Roman though...that'll be a waste, I wouldn't mind sitting on _that_ face.'

It made her angry, and Renee didn't know why. The very _audacity_ of the woman to speak of these men that way, to talk about _Roman_ that way...he'd been good to her. Looked after her, was a man on the hunt to try and bring his family back together. He wasn't an item for sexual fantasy.

'What on earth makes you think he'd let a herpes ridden bitch like you _near_ him? Renee hissed. She was almost surprised at herself. She'd never sounded so venomous, never outright tried to verbally destroy someone. Just as the gloves on her hands; it almost felt liberating. 'He's got far better taste than your diseased snatch.'

She was pretty sure she could hear Seth laugh behind that tape.

Nikki looked furious. Her face burned red hot, her mouth hung open. As if her brain couldn't quite process what was being said. Behind her, Brie didn't move, didn't say a single word, as if she were trying to hold herself back. But whether it was from laughter or rage it was hard to tell. The thing at her throat was a foreign object, out of Renee's sight, but she was getting damn tired of being held hostage in this way over and over. She wasn't a hostage. She'd damn well rescued two grown men over the past two days and to think she was a victim in all of this was almost insulting.

'Give me that Brie. Hold her!'

As it was passed, Renee finally saw what it was, an old fashioned straight razor. It was cared for well, shining silver in the window light. The sharp edge smiled at her. Fear briefly crossed her mind but was swiftly kicked aside by the growing defiance which really wanted to take her right foot and ram it so hard up Nikki's arse she'd be tasting leather for a week. Perhaps it was being thrown into this royal shit storm, but she kind of liked it. She found it all exhilarating. Nikki held that razor so close to Renee's face. She moved it around, the light dancing off the surface.

' There's no escape for any of them, or for you. But don't worry. I'll give you something pretty to remember us by...how about I take an eye? Or those lips of yours? Maybe pretty that face of yours up a bit...or...' she smiled. That ruby pout smacked in pleasure. Nikki reached out and grabbed a great fistful of Renee's golden hair. Her pride and joy.

Renee felt her stomach drop.

'Let's see what you look like without this.'

Brie made no move to halt her sister. Renee was held so tight, arms pinned that she couldn't even move. The razor slashed. Over and over great handfuls of that hair fell through the air, landed softly softly on the carpet. Tears rolled over her cheeks. But she didn't say a word. Shorter, shorter until she couldn't even see it anymore. Seth was trying to yell, tried to squirm, do anything. But no one could. The last curls fell, and Nikki stood back, arms crossed, razor pressed up against her arm, admired her handiwork. She laughed, and started to play with her weapon, flicking it around, tossing it, catching and twirling it like a knife.

'Much better, now you look interesting. Perhaps the face next.'

'Nikki,' Brie warned, 'we have a package to deliver. And be careful with that razor. I don't want it damaged.'

'You're too sentimental.'

'That's all I have left of him!' Brie defended, annoyed. Renee felt her hold slacken a little. Just like with Cesaro, all it took was a distraction, all it took was time.

'That and a defunct wedding ring,' Nikki smirked. 'Get over it Brie. We're living the dream. Look at what we get to do.' She pointed at Renee with the razor. 'I think it's an improvement.' She cocked her head to one side. 'Just think, when you were married all you were was a house wife.'

'I was more than that!' Brie snapped. She stood, dropping Renee face first as she did. 'I was more than you were! You cried and crawled after that copper like a crack whore chasing your next fix. I had a life, I was in love, I had everything I ever wanted!'

'But then he went and blew it didn't he? You can't save monsters Brie, he should have known. He should have give up, but that _noble_ heart of his. Well it didn't do him any favours did it? You're better with him in the ground. You're free without him holding you down.'

Renee's fingers clutched at her curls on that rose coloured carpet. She felt their softness in her fingers, knew she'd never again have them flow from her skull. Years of growing had grown confidence. She'd loved her hair. Had taken care of it, nurtured it, like it was her own child. It took time and patience, but just like that, it was gone.

And she didn't need it.

She felt...lighter, somehow.

The harsh slap from Brie near knocked Nikki sideways, and brought a smile to Renee's mouth. Slowly she pushed herself up from the floor, saw as the twins brawled. Hair was ripped, screams near shattered windows, blow upon blow smashed every piece of body they could reach. Somehow in the struggle, Brie managed to wrestle that razor from her sister. She moved to dodge a blow, arm shot up. Everything fell still. Renee felt breathless from just watching them, but something was different something had changed. The identical twins, weren't so similar anymore. From the corner of Nikki's eye down to her jaw, a thin red line split open, blood started to run like one great red tear.

'My face...what have you done? What have you done to me?' Nikki screamed. She held her hands to her cheek, tried to force the blood back in a frenzy. 'My face, my beautiful face! No one will want me now! No one! You've ruined me!'

Brie offered no apology, but seemed shocked at what had happened. Her eyes fell down to the bloody razor in her fingers. All she could offer her sister was a shrug,

'_Now you look interesting_,' she mimicked.

With a hellish scream, Nikki lunged for her sister. The two tumbled straight into Renee. She felt their full weight against her, saw as the razor was flung out of reach. They didn't stop, didn't move to let her up. Trapped under their confrontation, she stared desperately up at Seth, whose own eyes had fallen on that sharp edge. He glanced toward her, and allowed himself to fall off that bed. His agony made her heart clench, but she couldn't help him. Nikki's elbow smacked the back of her head and for a moment she felt the entire world swim. She shook herself tried to bring it all back to focus. Seth was out of sight, stuck down the side of the bed, trying to get closer, closer to that razor.

A pair of feet appeared in Renee's view, just in front of where the window was.

She was seriously going to have to install some kind of security measure. Too many people were finding their way into her house without her permission.

A hand reached down, smooth, far too tanned for the meagre sun that Adams saw once in a blue moon. Its manicured fingers picked up that razor, and walked silently toward her. The twins, too caught up in their fight didn't even notice him as he bent down in front of Renee.

'This, is an intervention,' he said with bright white teeth.

'What are you doing in my house?' Renee demanded. Probably an inappropriate question for someone who had seemingly just offered help, but she was pissed off.

'I was sent here to keep an eye on you, in case trouble arrived.'

'Does tying my friend up and cutting my hair off not constitute trouble?'

'I was searching the perimeter for forces of evil.'

'They're fucking on top of me!'

'Ah, yes. This is true. Allow me to remove them for you.'

He left that razor on the floor, just in front of her nose. Strong hands literally pried the twins apart. One clung to Brie, whilst the other flung Nikki out into the corridor.

'I advise you go your Bitchiness. Back up is here and your ugly is ruining my moment. Fuck off. Some assassin you are.'

Her hand still holding her face, a bruise beginning to form under her eye, Nikki hissed. But she didn't hesitate. With one last venomous look toward her sister, she staggered up, and limped away.

'She'll be back,' Brie growled.

'Yes well you're not off the hook either miss, must say though, you're gorgeous. I'm Dolph.' His eyes sparkled as he said it, and he placed her back on the floor. She landed lithely and actually put her hands on Renee and helped her up to her feet.

'I'm...sorry. I know that's nothing for what we've done to you. I, just,' she held a hand to her forehead, 'this isn't me. I don't know what I was thinking. Nikki said it would do me good, get my mind off what happened. I could get my revenge against Shield...it all sounded so sweet. But I'm not a cruel person...I don't like hurting people...Nikki was the one who always got off on it...I'm sorry. I can only say it over and over. I'm really sorry.'

Renee stared at her, and then patted her arm. 'We all make mistakes.'

'That's...it? No slap? No verbal beatdown? You're forgiving me just like that?'

Renee shrugged, 'I didn't say that. I just have bigger things to worry about than you right now.' She bent down and picked up the razor.

'Don't touch that!' Brie snapped, but then checked herself as Renee shot her a glare. 'I'm...sorry. It's just very important to me.'

'Well how about I use it to cut my friend loose, and then if you're good you can have it back. Hmm?' Renee turned her back on them and made her way to the side of the bed. Seth lay very still as she sliced through his bonds and peeled the tape from his mouth. 'How you holding out?'

'I've had better days,' he said, and ignored the hand offered to him to help him up. Instead, he used his better fingers to grip the bed and heave himself to his feet. He was a little unsteady, and smartly didn't refuse when Renee immediately placed herself as his crutch. Seth leaned on her gently, finding his balance. 'Brie Bella, of all people, I've got to say I'm surprised it took you so long.'

'Don't even speak to me!' Brie spat.

Renee was rather glad of her decision not to hand the razor back, otherwise it could have descended into another hack and slash which she really didn't need. She'd only just re-decorated. Besides, Seth had been through more than enough.

'Am I missing something here?' Dolph said. He lurked in the doorway, and couldn't seem to take his eyes off Brie's bottom. 'I mean, I can't miss this. But what's with the hate?'

'That...that _scum_ killed my husband, killed my _world_,'

'He died fast,' Seth offered. It occurred to Renee, that Seth was an ass, and didn't care if his words hurt as much as healed. He told it how he saw it, and whilst you could admire that, she almost understood the determination to hurt him. The way he'd spoken to her had been enough for her to rage quit to the kitchen. She found it hard to believe he was a murderer, but the cold way it left his lips made her shudder. 'He fought like a man. You can be proud of that.'

'I shouldn't have to be! He did nothing wrong!' Brie was shaking now. 'All he wanted was a better world, where we could raise our children and not have anything to fear, where they could be happy, where they could have dreams and they didn't have to know the shit cloud that hangs over Kennedy.'

'You have kids?' Dolph suddenly sounded turned off.

Brie's hand moved to her flat as a pancake stomach. 'No. But we wanted them so badly.'

Renee felt a pang of sympathy for the woman, and looked up into Seth's face to see if he did too. Nope, clearly not, those eyes were still stone cold.

'He defied the Authority, we were sent in. We did our job. We know now that everyone we were told was wrong, that we were used to wipe out those who threatened their power, and that's something we have to live with every day. There were a dozen less graves before we were formed. But I can't apologize for it. It happened a long time ago, and for me to say _sorry_, wouldn't change a single thing.'

'Has anyone ever told you that you're a fucking asshole Seth Rollins?' Renee asked and pointedly glared up at him.

'Oh yeah, all the time.'

Brie looked like she couldn't decide whether to laugh, cry or stab something. Before she could collapse from the crush of emotions, Dolph wrapped his arms around her, and she turned into him, and cried. It was hard to watch. This was a woman who'd lost everything. Now she'd even lost her sister. Renee couldn't help but want to comfort her, but then she looked down at the razor in her hand and was reminded that it very nearly opened her neck.

She saw her hair on the floor, and sniffed, reached up to her head.

Seemingly knowing what she was about to ask, Seth shook his head.

'Yes it looks terrible.'

She swallowed.

Brie turned around to look at her, and tried to wipe her tears away on the back of her hand.

'I'll fix it. I promise I will. I was a hairdresser before...before all of this. You'll look stunning – you did before. Nikki can't see past her own nose. She thinks the world is ugly, called me it for years...even though we're identical.' She let out an uneasy breath, 'what I did to her...'

'It was an accident.' Dolph patted her shoulder. 'You were defending yourself against her. Don't blame yourself.'

'You saw that?'

'Been watching a while.'

'So you DID see them cut my hair off?'

'Next question please.'

'Am I supposed to like you, Dolph? Because I'm getting some really mixed signals here.'

'Oh you can like him. All the women did. Even a woman who we all love to fear; making the Game jealous is a fast way to an early grave Ziggler.'

Dolph looked pleased at being recognized, 'I'm surprised you remember me Rollins.'

'How can I forget that mug? I beat it to shit a hundred times.'

'And I gave it all back to you.'

It was difficult to detect, but Renee was pretty sure she could almost hear something friendly in how they spoke to one another. As if in their battles, they'd transformed from enemies to friends. You could see it in their demeanours, how they looked at each other, there was respect there. ]

'What puzzles me though, is why you're here.'

'I was sent by a neutral party to keep an eye on Miss Renee here,' from his pocket, his arm still around Brie, he pulled out a ripped piece of paper, it had her address and name on in. 'Written out for me by the boss, copied off a note that had been given to a certain Roman Reigns.'

'Roman?'

'Roman?'

They both sounded relieved.

'Yeah that's the guy,' Dolph chuckled.

'Boss? Who's your boss?'

'Not really my place to say. But I should think you might meet him soon. He's very interested in you both. And I have no doubt that your Mr Reigns shall be joining us too – should he survive Lesnar.'

'Lesnar?' Seth's voice cracked. 'But he's never gone into the pits before...that's Dean's world. Lesnar's unbeaten -,'

'He'd find a way to win,' Renee interrupted, confident. She didn't need her hair. She had faith now. Faith in impossible things and impossible men.

'He did.'

'What?'

'He did win. That's what we meant when we said he was being hunted,' Brie bit her bottom lip, expression worried. 'He managed to escape the arena, he killed Paul Heyman. The Authority are out for blood, not revenge. They want his head on a stick.'

'Don't they all?' Renee muttered. 'So what happens now? Are you going to find your sister? Kiss and make up? Go back to the Authority and be our forever enemy?'

Brie shrugged uselessly,' I'm not a bad person...I never wanted to be. Some of the things I've done are terrible, horrible things. My heart was...is...broken, I've been so lost...I want to hate you all. It'd make it easier. The Shield ruined my life. But right now all I can see is your hair.'

'It'll grow back.'

'How can you be so accepting of this? Of what we've done? Of what's going on?'

Renee looked at the carpet, and nudged Seth's foot tenderly with her own. 'I guess I always wanted something exciting to happen, now it is. The good and the bad come hand in hand. You took my hair, but right now I still have my legs and my arms and my heart and my brain. I'd say things are going alright.'

'I wish I had your optimism,' Seth bit, but was ignored. 'If Roman escaped, he'll be trying to find Dean...if he even knows...he has to know. He has to.' He turned his eyes to the open window. '_Be safe, brother_.'


	31. The Burning Building

**((Sorry for the delay everyone! Being having major stresses due to soon moving house! Please forgive me and I'll get updates done when I can! This chapter is kind of short, but please enjoy all the same!))**

**KENNEDY**

'This as far as we can take you,' Bryan muttered. He'd not met Roman's eyes and Dean couldn't see beyond the body which was cradled in his arms. 'The Halls of Fame are where we have to stay.'

'How do you expect to change anything hiding in the dark?'

'The dead must stay dead until the right opportunity comes along Reigns.'

'So what was it that just happened huh? Was blowing up the sanitarium the wrong time?'

Bryan glared at him, 'I don't expect you to understand. We helped you.'

'You helped yourself.' Roman snapped back. 'Everything was prepared even if I hadn't survived Lesnar. Admit it Bryan, this was never about me, about Dean. You wanted to make a statement, shake the Authority but not deal with the shit that came with it. You just want to hide in your shadows and laugh at how clever you've been. People died in there Bryan. Your _take that_ killed innocents who should never have been caught up in this shit in the first place.'

The cold clap that echoed from the surrounding darkness shook his spine. It came from all directions, but emanated from the gloved hands of the hooded man. He'd almost been inseparable from the shadows. He didn't say a word, but Roman didn't need to hear any to know just what was being said. He'd just told the story of the Shield, of what they'd done. Except instead of trying to shake the Authority, they were doing its bidding. He'd always known that their history was wrong. But no one had ever called them out on it.

Until now, by simply clapping.

'What do you even need us alive for?' Roman muttered, not quite able to look up from the floor. 'Surely you, of all people, would have wanted us to blow up in that sanitarium, to die in the arena.'

Strangely, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't hard, wasn't threatening, it was...comforting. Like the hand of an old friend. Roman slowly found himself raising his head, and he finally, for the first time really saw Daniel Bryan; the real Daniel Bryan, hidden behind all the hair and the fatigue. He was still there, still hungry.

'I don't want you dead, any of you. This isn't about me; it's not about the Shield. Kennedy, Harrison, every single town in this hell strewn state, is dying. The Authority is bleeding their influence everywhere Reigns. Before it was here, but now they're taking over. This isn't their town. It's ours. Harrison isn't their town, Madison, Lincoln...every town, every city. They want complete control Reigns. Do you honestly think you're the only ones they've manipulated?' Bryan shook his head. 'I lost everything trying to fight alone. Now, people want to take a stand. The only people that the Authority have ever been afraid of, are the Shield. Even if it takes the rest of our lives, one city a time...the Authority need to be stopped.'

'You want us to help you.'

'You owe it to Kennedy, to at least do _something_ Reigns. You can't run forever.'

Dean, who'd been silent for the whole exchange, had a sudden hold of Bryan's hand. His fingers clutched so hard you could hear knuckles crack.

'Don't touch him. Don't ever fucking touch him.'

'You're a part of this too Ambrose,' Bryan objected and pulled himself free, pointed at AJ's body. 'This wouldn't have happened if not for the Authority putting her away, you away.'

If it hadn't been for the woman in his arms, Dean would have murdered him there and then. You could see it in his eyes; that violence he fought so hard to contain strained to break out. But with her weight against him, he knew he couldn't. Because whilst he hated every single word that was being said, he knew that it was the truth. Everything that slipped from the goat's tongue, was real, it was fact. He couldn't fight it, couldn't dispute it.

'Or if you hadn't blown up the sanitarium.' Roman cut in.

'He saved them, us.' Dean muttered.

Roman stared at him. Dean's gaze was locked on the patchy darkness of the floor.

'What are you talking about? People _died_ Dean.'

'You think I don't know that? They were already dead Rome! They were walking and breathing and talking but being in those walls...that's not being alive. That's how they controlled you, they killed your will and they killed your brain, gave you little things to make you _love_ them. They make you their dolls in their house because they can. In that box we were the walking dead – we escaped...AJ...she smiled at me, Rome. She was happy to go.' He held her tightly. Her head was against his shoulder, Dean had closed her eyes. He dipped his sweating forehead to touch hers. 'I'll kill that bastard. I'll destroy him inside and out. I'll cut out every organ, in alphabetical order and make him watch. But she was happy.'

Roman didn't know what was happening. The people around him didn't make sense, their words twisted and turned and he knew he was being manipulated. Dean was lost, confused. Perhaps he meant what he was saying, but it didn't justify what Daniel Bryan had done. He'd disregarded the lives of the patients simply to piss off the Authority. He'd thought it worth the sacrifice. You could see it, hear it in how he spoke. He believed he did the right thing.

'Dean, we're leaving.'

'You can't just walk away Reigns. You'll come back. You'll realize you can't run from the Authority – they'll always find you. You'll have to fight again.'

Roman refused to answer him. He steered Dean by his shoulders away, toward the exit of the halls. They'd been brought to it, told that it came out at the edge of the city. They were on their own from there. AJ needed a burial. The woodlands on the edge of Kennedy would be the only place they'd have a chance without being interrupted. He didn't want to stay in the city a second longer than he had to. All it did was poison his mind and his blood. His body ached and his wounds stung.

It didn't matter if Daniel Bryan was right, or if he was wrong. This wasn't his fight. He'd battled enough for a thousand years. He'd tasted his own blood too many times. He'd dragged his brothers' wounded bodies for miles and he'd had enough. He was tired, he was broken, and he just wanted to sleep. Dean didn't resist him, and moved ahead, never looking back. Roman didn't even grant Bryan a parting glance. Kennedy could burn for all he cared. He'd found his precious thing in the burning building. Dean was safe. Dean was alive and he was free.

Kennedy didn't matter.

His brothers mattered. The Shield mattered.

Revolution belonged in the dirt where they'd buried it. If they wanted to create their own shit storm it was up to them. He wanted nothing of it. He'd been a soldier once – it hadn't worked out.

'I don't want to come back Rome. I want out, of all of it. I want away from this state.' Dean moved far slower than usual, all his energy taken, sapped by the woman in his arms. She was a serene thing; seemed to be sleeping rather than dead. Dean didn't appear to struggle with her, she almost seemed light, but when she'd slipped away, she'd stolen the light in his eyes – those stars she was so fond of.

'We won't. We'll get Seth, and we'll be gone Dean. We'll get away, and we'll never come back.'

His brother seemed to take some comfort from the promise, but the cloud still hung over them. The weight of the truth Bryan had hit them with was uncomfortable. It dug so deep that silence cut between them. Their steps were empty and the possibility of danger was virtually ignored. They could have been confronted by the Game, by his men at any moment. The delay caused by Bryan would have been more than enough for the enemy to have caught up. But for once, it seemed that luck followed them. The early evening was the same colour as the morning. Grey painted the sky and the road and the walls. Dean almost blended into the world with his ripped scrubs.

The roads were cold and empty – ZZ Highway stretched out ahead and they had little choice but to follow its line. The woodland acres stretched out toward the west, and before long they found themselves at its edge.

'You know what's in here.'

'Yeah.' Dean's voice was as empty as his eyes.

'They might find us if we're too long.'

But Dean didn't care. Nothing would have stopped him from what he'd decided. His girl would see her stars, even if it killed them both.


	32. Almost Human

**((Another chapter for you all! I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!))**

**ADAMS**

Brie snipped very slowly; each movement deliberate, as if she were trying to calculate what she was doing. Or perhaps it was because her hand was shaking so much. It would have been impossible to miss the look of shock as Renee had taken her by the hand and guided her into the kitchen, sat herself down on a chair and handed her the scissors. The boys were left behind, with Dolph helping Seth to redress – the house was no longer safe. The twins had found them through the diner, snagging Renee's employee details from Shawn. The old man had handed it over without a thought, simply because they'd told him they were sent by Hunter.

But as the few precious locks disappeared, Renee still couldn't find it in her to hate Shawn, or even condemn him. He was confused...as lost as she'd been. They'd found each other in that diner, both wanted to belong to something. She'd found herself in this fiasco, whilst he still clung to the memory of being with the Game. _The Game_, she knew little of the man, but he seemed to be the dark cloud which hung over them all. The name had been whittled off a million times by Shawn, and she'd been told that he was the one who owned the diner, but that was all she really knew.

'Tell me about him,' she asked Brie. She felt the other woman's fingers glide through her hair, trying to assess where to cut next, 'tell me about the Game. Who is he? Why does everyone hate him so much?'

Brie paused, 'He's the boss; the man in charge of Kennedy, of Harrison...of everywhere and everything.' She gently snipped again, 'He took control when his wife's father, the previous head of the Authority handed over power to his daughter. He used to be against them, a long time ago. But those days are long gone. Now, people fear him, and if they don't, they're foolish. Even your Shield friends know to be afraid. The Game doesn't forgive, and he doesn't forget, he's a very dangerous enemy to have.'

'Why do you work for him?'

'For something to do...when my husband died I was lost. Nikki was already in employment and pulled me into it.'

'So you don't like him then?'

'I've never met him. I've seen him from a distance and that was close enough.'

Renee adjusted how she sat in the chair, her eyes out of the window as the evening drew in. The sky was a dusky grey, clouds drifted on in and whilst the storms had long passed, she couldn't help but shudder.

'Roman told me that they used to work for him. That they did terrible things for him, and now that they've abandoned him, he wants them dead...and that they took something. But he won't say what.'

The scissors stopped, and Brie seemed to have frozen.

'What's wrong?'

'They took something from him?' she put the scissors down on the table and moved around in front of Renee, her face was urgent and her face drawn, pale as if she'd seen a ghost. 'Renee, listen to me. If the Shield has stolen something from the Game, he'll pursue until he gets it back. It won't matter what or who is in his way, he'll destroy everything just to get it back. You have to get out of this, run away; he won't care if you're innocent. He'll see that you're with the Shield and that'll be more than enough reason to kill you too.'

Renee swallowed, but took Brie's hand in her own, looked at her, really looked at this woman. It was strange to see someone so afraid of her. She was a whip strike, Brie's emotions snapped to and fro and Renee had no idea where they were going to land. She swapped from fear to rage to despair to this. Her fingertip brushed over that gold band on the other woman's wedding finger.

'Is that what happened? Did your husband steal something?'

'It was never the Game's to begin with!' Brie snapped and snatched her hand away. But she regained her composure quickly, as if mentally chastising herself for acting that way. She swallowed and pressed her hand against her stomach. 'We were having our first baby. I'd only just found out I was pregnant. We saved up everything we had to try and get our place done up. But then...the Game's goons came to the house when he was out. They ransacked everything. I tried to fight back but...' she closed her eyes, took a deep breath. 'They kicked me in the stomach.'

Renee felt her blood run cold.

'They knew I was pregnant. They were sent deliberately – a warning to my husband about what would happen if he carried on trying to start a revolution. All our money, gone, our future, gone...I begged him not to retaliate, but he did. He attacked one of the underground fights, took all the betting money. He managed to get it to me...told me to hide, then the Shield...' her face crumpled. Renee was on her feet and guided the other woman into the chair. Brie's face was in her hands, her sobs leaked between her skinny fingers. She cried, and cried, but Renee didn't stop her. She boiled the kettle, and when Brie's tears ran out, Renee gently pushed a mug of hot chocolate into her hand. 'Thank you, Renee...why are you being so nice to me? After what we did?'

'Because Brie, you've had a shit time.' Renee perched on the edge of the table, careful to avoid the scissors. 'It's not fair of me to hate you. What you did was wrong, sure, but you're trying to make it right. I can't hate you for that.'

Brie sniffed and rubbed her nose on the back of her hand before taking a grateful sip of the drink.

'I wish I'd met you before Renee, you're so calm.'

'Ha! Not always. I slapped Roman last night because he was being a jerk.'

Brie looked impressed, 'And you got away with it? From what I've heard Roman Reigns doesn't deal well with people socking him one.'

Renee shrugged, 'I don't take kindly to being treated like background noise. Mr Reigns pulled me headfirst into this, and I deserve to be recognized for surviving this far and doing this much. I've saved that man's ass, and Seth's. I'd hardly call myself an inconvenient damsel.'

Brie took another mouthful and laughed emptily, 'I used to think that. I wanted to be a part of the rebellion, but no, it wasn't safe. With a baby on the way I should lie low.'

'Wise advice,'

'And look where it found me.' Brie was a thin creature, but she was strong, you could see it in her bare arms with the slight tip of the mug. She was dressed plainly compared to what her psychotic twin had been exhibiting. But behind those dark leggings and black t, you could see core muscle. She wasn't someone who could be easily pushed around. 'I'm at the mercy of my own stupidity and crying about my woes to a stranger in a strange kitchen.'

'What's wrong with my kitchen?' Renee pouted and looked around, 'I've always thought of it as homely.'

It was a squat little thing, with only just enough room to fit the table and chair which they were at now. There was a small cooker, a few cupboards and her fridge. The toaster and the kettle sat on the side next to the fruit bowl which was stuffed full of red apples and red grapes. There were photos of her mom and dad stuck to the fridge, and in the very corner was Lillian's bed. The cat herself was still in the bedroom – she'd definitely taken a shine to the multi-coloured haired man.

'Nothing at all – it's adorable. Wish I'd had a kitchen like this – our house was little more than a shack. Not the best place for raising a baby – exactly the reason we wanted to do it up. We were going to do everything ourselves, but it was for materials and things...' she sighed, 'I need to get over this. It was a long time ago, but it feels like it's just happened. Like every now and again, I feel her kick, even though this belly is long empty.' Brie took another glug of hot chocolate. 'This is really good – you put cream in this?'

'Always – mom always did that for me when I was little.'

'It's delicious – haven't had hot chocolate for years.'

'It's my favourite. Brie, I have to ask, and I'm really sorry I am but...what were you going to call her?'

To Renee's surprise, Brie smiled. It was the first time she'd done so since they'd met, and it was one of the brightest things she'd ever seen. Brie's full scarlet mouth made the most sincere smile, it was warming to see.

'Josie. Sometimes I picture what she would be like. I think she'd have his eyes, but my nose.'

The door to the kitchen suddenly opened, and there, supported by Dolph, Lillian drifting round his legs, purring so hard she practically vibrated, was Seth. He looked much cleaner than before, his hair washed and clothes on his body, ones that Renee recognized as the old work shirts she'd stolen off her dad years before for house work. He looked almost healthier, months of grime gone. He even smelled alright, it was only now that he was clean that she'd realized just how bad his odour had been.

'Seth Rollins, looking fresh,' she said, arms crossed, 'you know you look almost human.'

'Hardy ha ha,' he laughed bitterly.

'Ready for removal Miss Renee,' Dolph saluted. 'Need me to move anything out to the truck for you?'

She'd not even thought about what to take with her. The prospect of leaving her lovely little box house was too much to swallow so she'd simply spat it out. Her eyes drifted around the kitchen, the room she loved so much, and she knew it could be a long while until she could come back again. They'd been compromised. But where could they go? Dolph had told them that Kennedy was out of the question, as was Harrison, they'd have to keep on the move. But Dolph wouldn't be able to stay with them – different members of the rebellion would liaison.

'I'll help you pack Renee,' Brie put the mug on the table and stood, 'and I'll stay with you both. I need to redeem myself for what I've done. I can protect you.'

'Thanks,' Seth muttered sarcastically. Whilst it seemed like it was a cut at Brie, Renee could sense it was simply because Seth felt completely and utterly useless. He was still unwell, and whilst he had a little more colour in his cheeks, his fingers were still broken, his body wasted it was clear that if Dolph hadn't have been holding him up, he'd be a crumpled pile on the floor.

'I'm not doing this for you Rollins,' Brie said with a hard glare.

Seth seemed to miss the murderous look and instead focused on Renee. 'We need to move.'

It took half an hour to pile her few precious belongings into her never used gym bag. She and Brie had dashed throughout the small house, grabbing this and that. She'd thrown a handful of clothes in, a photo of her parents, a towel, deodorant, shoes, a hair brush, soap and somehow, between the two of them, they'd managed to squish Lillian's cat bed in. Lillian herself seemed unsure of all the fuss and spent the whole thing curled up on Seth's lap. Dolph collected food supplies. It felt like they were packing for the end of the world.

'Got everything?'

Renee zipped up her raincoat, her scarf wound round her neck. Brie herself tugged on a borrowed jumper. Dolph was at the table, stuffing the remains of the first aid kit into a box. Where he'd gotten the box she had no idea. Perhaps it was left over from where she'd moved in. Seth looked grouchy at just sitting there. But as the clouds tumbled in and the skies darkened, they found themselves piling out of the house. Lillian was caught up in Brie's arms, and Renee's heart sank further and further into her boots as she locked the door. Her eyes rolled over the face of the home she'd called her own. Together they loaded the truck, and slammed everything shut. The world seemed far too close, and every danger on her doorstep as Renee clambered into the driver's seat. Brie sat next to her, Lillian in her lap.

The truck rumbled to life, and Renee's hands shook as she took the wheel.

'Everything's going to be alright Renee, you'll get through this, we all will.'

Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath. Of all people, she hadn't expected those words from Seth. He'd been nothing but tense, untrusting, but now, right when she needed to hear something comforting, he'd given it to her. His words were calm, full of belief, words that could have come straight from the mouth of another man she'd driven. He was out there, somewhere, running, just like they were. Maybe they'd find each other, maybe the Shield would be reunited, but what came then?

'We should go Renee,' Brie patted her arm.

Yes, they should.

Slowly she pulled out of the driveway, and started down the road, headed through her small town. Adams had been her home, but now, like everything else, she was leaving it all behind, because of a chance encounter with a strange man in a diner. This curious adventure was throwing everything into upheaval. The dodgy road with its uneven surface required all her concentration, but she'd left half her brain at her front door.

'Renee look out!'

She screamed, the body smacked up over the front of the truck, smashed against the windscreen headfirst as the truck screeched to a halt, near tipping over, but somehow, somehow landed on four wheels. Heart hammered, mind flashed back to the red monster she'd hit previously, but this wasn't it. This was a man, a man with missing teeth and wide eyes, who even as his blood seeped over the glass, waved his fingers through the screen.

'Miss Renee? My name's Mick Foley – I'm a doctor,' he whimpered. Renee's heart was several metres behind them and she was frozen in her seat as the man somehow detached himself from the car and slid down the bonnet to the asphalt. He managed to limp round to the driver's door and knocked on the window. Without thinking Renee rolled it down, and found herself face to face with the wild haired man. 'I was sent by your friend Mr Reigns to see to Mr Rollins, can I come in?'

'Are you alright?'

'Oh yes, I'm fine. More than fine, you never feel more alive than when you're getting hit by trucks. Just as well I'd stood there; you might never have hit me, or seen me.'

His voice was gentle, but wheezy, as if he had holes in his lungs.

She didn't know him, didn't know if he could be trusted, had no idea if he was lying to her. But his mention of Roman, someone she _did_ trust in all this craziness, made her stomach clench. She nodded slowly.

'Dolph open the door,'

'Renee I don't know if that's -,'

'Do it. Just let him in. Seth needs a doctor. Watch him. Just do it.'

She heard the door open and felt the truck lower a little from the extra weight. It was another body to carry, another mouth to feed, but she didn't have the strength to turn him away. This Mick Foley, if he was indeed a doctor, he could help Seth. The faster he healed, the better their chances were of staying one step ahead of being found. It was one question after another, and perhaps he had some answers. Renee pulled away once again, their strange group of misfits growing by the hour.

She didn't know where she was heading, but she hoped it was safe.


	33. Seven Ways To Sunday

**((We're almost at 4000 views! Massive thanks to everyone who has taken time to stop by. To everyone who has written reviews, big thanks! This next chapter is dedicated to all of you for letting me know what you've thought and given your support. I appreciate every single syllable!))**

**COTTONWOOD**

Roman knew little of trees. They stretched too high, blocked out any light Dean hoped to find. Thousands splintered the cold earth and snaked up, spread wide covered the land like some plague. There was nothing beautiful. The bark was black and rotting, some painted with haphazard white in some vain attempt to protect them. But there was a cold which cut through every single living thing. Roman could feel it curl over his bare skin, seeping in through the bruises and cuts. He'd not had time to stop, inspect his injuries; the woodland air did it for him, licked his wounds like a dog. Dean was bare foot, not noticing the sharp of dirt or stone or wood. He walked as if in a trance, following some transient path that only he could see, leading him to his stars. Roman didn't know the last time he'd seen those lights in the sky. Maybe once, when he was a kid, somewhere beyond the State, he'd spied them up there. But his memories were hazed by years of violence. It was hard to find the light.

'Hope you know where you're heading Dean,' Roman muttered, more to himself than anything. He disliked the darkest parts of the world; he knew how unpredictable they were, how really, he knew nothing of them. But Dean...Dean belonged in shadow and in the grim danger of it all; it was where he was born and he was bred. He'd suffered and he'd lived. It was rare the two didn't go hand in hand, as AJ was in his arms. Roman stopped, head turned toward where the sky should have been, but it was blocked by a thick canopy of leaves. They were trying to navigate without help, through the unknown. He could see his friend, Dean unhampered by the dark, as he moved ahead. There was no slowing him down, led by the glow he could somehow sense.

It was perhaps the sickest joke of them all, that the most damaged of them, could see the light in everything.

Roman felt uneasy; there were eyes throughout these woodlands, creatures both animal and human lurked out of sight. He could almost hear them through the winds cruel rustle of dead leaves. He didn't want to stay, didn't want to wait until it was too late. Cottonwood wasn't ruled by the Authority, there were darker powers at work, hidden at the black heart of the woodland. They'd ventured through the trees before, and had only managed to escape with their lives, because they'd been allowed to. The ground was uneven, unwilling to take his weight. Strangers were eaten alive, lost forever in the endlessness. His own breathing seemed too loud. His lungs hurt. The quiet was tailored to sever his nerves. He'd been pushed too far all ready. Every sense was screaming, and he felt eyes on him as he stood.

'Dean, Dean we gotta go, we have to leave.'

But Dean was nowhere. He'd gone, evaporated into the shadows. Roman's heart hammered, head swung left and right, his eyes burned against the bark and the hollows. 'Dean?' he couldn't just stay, he had to move, he was leaving himself out in the open, vulnerable. The wind scraped leaves, and whistled through the gaps, a haunting howl that chased him as he started to move. First he walked, but it was too slow, he started to run. His muscles strained, over-exerted. He could feel acid in his arms and his legs. He'd ruined himself. All of his energy, all of his will and his power had been pummelled out of him by Lesnar's fists and Dean's broken heart. How could he carry his brothers if he could barely walk?

His booted feet struck the earth hard and heavy. The leaves and dirt hid all hazard and trap. This scene was replaying over and over, nothing changed, as if he were caught in a nightmare, forever running but never gaining, stuck in a cruel cycle. He'd found himself lost in the Halls of Fame, but this was Cottonwood.

'Dean!' he had to stop, his legs couldn't take it, they gave out and he crashed to the earth, hands scraped and knees of his combats tore on stone and hardened root. He was so far from everything he couldn't even think of how to push himself back onto his feet. What had he done to deserve it all? Was it blindly following the Game's orders? Was his punishment to live in the dark to atone for every sin? He'd done wrong, he'd hurt and he'd tortured and he'd killed. He could remember the faces of each and every single one he'd silenced and dumped into cold graves. He wasn't a good man. He wasn't a hero, couldn't call himself a soldier because the belief was gone. He'd never claimed to be anything other than who he was, what he was. He was Roman Reigns, he was a killer, a thug, a lover, a son, he was a mercenary, he was lost, he was afraid, he was a brother, he was everything and nothing.

He was breaking into pieces as sharp as flint and miniscule as the ground up dirt. He clenched it in his fingers, moulded it into his palms and threw it aside. This was frustration, irritation, he felt like a child who'd been abandoned for being bad, for not listening, for doing everything wrong. The woods were laughing at him, big bad Roman Reigns with his bleeding knees in the dirt. Why didn't it just open him up and swallow him whole? If this was his punishment then he chose death – but then he couldn't guarantee it anymore; death didn't mean the end, he'd seen the dead walk, he'd felt its hand on his shoulder.

It felt heavy there now.

'Rome?'

'I don't want to stay here Dean. I'm losing my mind and I can't stop it. The fucking dark, I want light. I want all the light I want electricity and I want fire and I want the sun. I don't know the sun. I've never seen it, I envy AJ.'

Dean pulled him up, looked at his busted hands and his empty face and for a moment he seemed at a loss. But then, like Dean always knew how, he pulled him back. He drew his fist tight, smashed it hard into Roman's jaw. The force behind it sent him reeling, a cruel reminder of the power possessed by Dean Ambrose, with, or without his _Dirty Deeds_ strapped on. Roman's eyes were wide, hand on his chin, felt it throb. But he didn't feel shock; he didn't feel anything but blinding rage. With a roar, he charged, he threw his entire weight against Dean, slammed him back into one of the tree trunks. He threw fists, he kicked, he screamed. Even as flesh opened and eye swelled shut.

'It's ok Rome.' Dean managed, somewhere between a tooth flying and his body crumpling at the base of the tree. 'Get it out.'

But Roman, lungs straining, every breath a labour finally saw. He saw what he'd done; Dean sat in the dirt as his face started to turn purple, as his nose dribbled blood and his eye closed, his elbows on his perked knees, one hand to his mouth as he rubbed his stubble.

'Guess you're keeping a lot in Rome; think I just swallowed a tooth.' Dean opened his mouth, played with his tongue, a gap two teeth wide on the left side. But he'd lost worse. That was the thing. There was always worse. He knew that. He'd seen it in AJ's face as her soul died and she finally escaped the sanitarium forever; to live and to be locked away, behind a door, or even in Regal's psychotic embrace was torture, hell. To die was to be free. He'd never been afraid of dying; hell, the way he lived it was a miracle he wasn't gone already. What scared him was the idea that it could so easily snatch away those he loved. It was why he'd stayed away; shit found him. He drew it in like he was a magnet. 'Wanna talk Rome?'

Dean was a man of many words, psychobabble which confused and misled; he was the proverbial serpent leading the innocent astray and luring in the wicked with his forked tongue. But Rome kept it all in. When Dean needed to get it all out, it would build and build until words weren't enough and he'd explode, showering violence and bloodlust over whoever was unfortunate enough to be too close. His brothers had held him down, had glued him into their arms until he was calm, mumbled comfort when he'd tried to slash their throats or break their legs, seeing monsters instead of friends. Roman Reigns was a man of control, he didn't detonate.

This was the first time he'd broken.

'We should never have separated.' Roman found himself pacing, back, forth, hands tugging his mane. 'This was my fault, if I'd have listened more, tried to help Seth...he would never have left us. We'd never have had to pull him out, you wouldn't have been shot, he wouldn't be sick, she wouldn't be in this mess...this is all because of me.'

'Hold on there hoss, pretty sure I helped too.' Dean felt in his pockets for cigarettes which weren't there, and disappointed, he picked up the nearest twig and started to strip it of its rotten bark. The grime gathered under his already filthy nails. 'Think I'm prime candidate of the _drive sethiekins away_ club.'

'You two were always closest of the three of us,' Roman insisted, 'I always wanted to be in there, closer to you both. I hated the fact that I always felt like an afterthought. I didn't give him the attention he needed, I didn't give you the help...I just walked through it in a fucking haze and until now I never saw it.'

Dean threw the stick at Roman's head. It bounced off and disappeared into the dark.

'Shut the fuck up. Blame yourself for this shit all you want. Not gonna change anything. All you fucking humans, all you do is complain about how shit went down, how you shoulda done this and that and _who the fuck cares_? It fucking happened Rome. Deal with it. Someone gets shot, the bullets fall out. Someone thinks he's got a golden cock and realizes he's rusted tin like the rest of us mortals. Get off your high horse; cos you don't look pretty you look fucking stupid. This isn't about you. It ain't about me and it sure as hell ain't about Seth. This black eye?' Dean pointed at it, pressed down on the puffiness as if to flatten it and let go. 'This is the past. I don't give a shit how or why I got it. It's there and I'll deal with it when it matters. These teeth,' he opened his mouth and licked the gap. 'Fucking overrated, never knew why I needed so many to begin with.'

Dean pressed his hands into the dirt and shoved himself to his feet, he moved, hand gripped the back of Roman's neck and pulled him into a long overdue embrace. Head to head, sweat to sweat, brother to brother.

'I love you brother; I lost a sister tonight, don't be a shit and make me bury someone else, cos I might just ram the shovel down my own throat.'

Roman closed his eyes. Dean's hands were some black magic; the lunatic who could bring the ultimate calm to anyone with just a touch. It was something bewildering and something demonic but he couldn't walk away from it. He didn't want to. He'd missed it.

'Doubt the ladies would want you with a shovel sticking out your ass.'

'I've heard it's an attractive feature.'

'You would.' Roman let out the breath it felt as if he'd been holding for the hours since he'd first been on the road, heading down ZZ Highway toward Kennedy, the very nightmare they wanted to leave behind. 'I met a girl. You'd like her. She could kick my ass seven ways to Sunday. But somehow I don't think she'd like to see your shit shovel.'

Dean snorted and patted Rome on the back, releasing his hold. 'Ain't got no lady on my mind right now 'cept the one covered in dirt.' He sniffed, rubbed his nose on the back of a filthy hand. Everything about him was disgusting; from the dried blood and the _smell_ which came off him, as if he'd not bathed in months. His hair was knotted, but slick from sweat which made him seem slimy. His eyes had sunk, his mouth hollow like a pumpkin's grin. But he was Dean fucking Ambrose. He was there, he was real and he was alive. Out of that fucking white box, forever. His head turned away from them both, ahead through the dark. 'Found a real nice patch for her, ground real soft, lil' gap in the trees so she can see that sky Rome; I think she'd like that.'

'I'm sure she would Dean,' it was near impossible to miss the sudden emptiness in his friend's voice as he spoke of AJ. Rome only knew what Dean had said of her before; he'd spoken of a stain on the white, the spec of colour who'd broken him in, had tamed the beast inside, had shown him restraint and devotion. His mother had killed herself, his father had stabbed his son and suckerpunched himself into the can. Dean had no one until her. 'Can I see, Dean?' he wanted to thank this woman, even in her death, for what she'd done. Because if she hadn't, there may never have been a Dean Ambrose, and there never would have been a Shield.

Dean himself moved off and led the way. It didn't take long, and the light cut through like a knife. Gaps between branches and leaves allowed some safety from the choking darkness. The wind harsher, a strangled hole as it screamed through the trees and tore into the leaves. But there, among the patches of night light, was a rushed pile of dirt, weighed over with stones. There were no flowers, no tombstone, but a lone promise fulfilled. Roman stood next to her, and he looked up. There, just visible, through those blessed patches in those trees, was something he'd not seen for years; starlight. There was something warming, even in the biting cold, at just seeing those burning balls of gas. As if they were a reminder, that there was always something at the end of it. But as he strained his eyes to see as the trees moved, he realized he was wrong. He had seen the stars, the previous night, reflecting back at him in a woman's eyes.

'It was the best I could do. I think it'll do. Do you think it'll do? Every time I buried someone before I had a nice sharp shovel and not these,' Dean held up his hands, covered in soil and scratched from the stones. 'These aren't good for this sort of thing.' He dropped his arms to his sides and looked down to the stones and earth which covered her. 'I'd kinda forgotten how hard this was. Used to be so fucking easy. Kill a fucker, plant him and watch the mushrooms grow. But this...I...she fucking _mattered_ Rome. She mattered so much.'

Roman planted his hand on Dean's shoulder. It said more than words could.

'We should go Dean. We've been here too long; they'll know we're here. They would have known as soon as we stepped into the woods.'

His brother flexed his fingers, bent them into fists. 'Let 'em come. I've unfinished business with that fat fucker.'

'Not when we're both like this Dean; we'll be gutted like pigs before you even had a chance to fight. You know that.'

'That was a misunderstanding.'

'Dean you're missing a kidney from last time.'

'I only need the one.' Dean protested. 'I can take 'em. I need something like this. Got a lotta shit to get out. Need some faces to pummel, some hair to rip out and shove down his mouth to try and shut him up.' He cracked his neck. 'Heard enough preaching for the rest of my fucking life.'

Roman hadn't let go of his shoulder and moved his grip down to the wrist. Before Dean could stop him, Roman hauled him up from the ground, slung him across his shoulders, and started to walk away. Any direction could have been the one they'd come from. Dean struggled and bucked against his brother.

'Put me down shithead!'

'Forget it. I'm not sticking around so you can get your rocks off cutting your teeth,' Roman grunted. He had no idea where to go, and was almost reluctant to leave the safety of the stars. But they'd outstayed their welcome. The eyes he'd felt burn him before were just out of sight, he could sense it. They were closing in, waiting for the moment to strike.

'Rome.' Dean's countenance was different, rigid, still. 'Rome, put me down _fucking now_.' He hissed, but there was something in it. A very real fear which was as cold as the wind which lapped over their bodies; Dean's gut was never wrong. Roman quickly did as he was told; they moved back to back, eyes swept over their woodland prison, the walls of the dark up against them.

Someone laughed. It echoed louder than any storm, came from all directions but hit against them. They knew that sound. They knew the monster it belonged to, an eater of worlds.

'Welcome to my yard boys; I hope you like it, because you ain't ever leavin'.'

There was no light. The darkness came and swallowed them whole.


	34. All Out Of Prayers

**((We've made it to over 4000 views! Well done everyone! Thank you so much! I'm very proud that this has done as well as it has, and it's not done yet! I'm sure eventually I'll have to divide it into different chapters, but we shall see! Meanwhile please enjoy this next extra long chapter!))**

**COTTONWOOD**

There was something about the hypnotic sway of that naked bulb. It barely shone, flickered easily, not quite here. Not quite there. There was something about the smell – woody, rotten, something infested the air and made it heavy and damp. His throat felt as if it had been plugged with cotton, dry, unpleasant, head just as bad. Beneath him was something hard and soft all at once, spongy and old; a mattress. Slight movement brought irritated spring squeaks, and he knew he was on a bed. But how had he gotten there? A hand to the head to try and quell the splitting ache with cut through his brain. His eyes were fuzzy, adjusted slowly, too slowly to the light. Patches of smoke worked their way up his nostrils, annoyed the hairs and made him sneeze. The dust particles scattered away with mucus and sweat. It was hot, too hot. The cold outside forgotten immediately for the intense heat which bathed his skin, weighed down the flies which buzzed somewhere above him.

'What...Rome?' Dean peered around, but there was no sign of his brother. 'Rome?' hands to the mattress now, ready to push him up, but he was pulled back. He hit the mattress again hard, looked in confusion to what had stopped him. Rope, thick knotted around his ankles and wrists so tight blood was on its weave. 'Fuck.'

There was one good bit of news from this. He was alive. They hadn't taken his other kidney. But this was bad, this was fucking bad. Rome had been right, they should have gone, they should have escaped before they were found. Dean tugged at his bonds, took his teeth to them but found it too strong for his remaining smoke stained ivories to chew. He rolled his head against the pillow, saw where the ropes connected to the frame. Someone didn't want him going anywhere. He knew exactly who. The Shield had always been shown their enemies...until Dean had picked this. He'd stumbled through the wreckage of Kennedy, high off the snorted drabs of that sweet special K they'd hooked him on years before. He'd found himself lost, found himself among trees. He could remember that cruel grin which cut through the night like a sickle. He'd lost more than a kidney that night. Nails and teeth, hair and chunks of flesh had been ripped away for the monster's giggle.

Seth had found him, Roman in tow. The battle had waged, and ended with the Hounds limping away in defeat, dragging Dean's carcass with them. It wasn't the last time they met. Never a victory won by the Shield. Dean knew demons; they crawled inside his skull, made him see things that weren't, say things that made no sense, they made him crave blood and smoke and that terrible sweet Ketamine. He was strong. He always had been. Had to be, to survive the fucked up world he called home. But the demons that lurked in the hollows of Cottonwood were more than the voices in his head.

They lived and breathed. They had bodies and eyes which were fireflies in the dark. They had voices which sang the sweetest of lullabies as they tore the flesh from your bones.

He curled his fingers into fists, wrenched at the ropes once more. The bed squeaked and he heaved and all that happened was that it complained more.

What room was this?

All wooden walls and wooden floors and wooden roof; he'd traded one box for another. There was that light bulb, it swung with the wind that snaked through the gaps at the top and bottom of the door but it was hot wind. It smelled sweet as honeysuckle and bitter as sweat. He could taste that wood smoke, somewhere beyond him. This was not a good place to be.

But where was Roman?

'Rome!' Dean roared, pulled at the ropes, did nothing but tighten them in his struggles. 'Rome I need you!'

It might have been the heat, but the room felt like it was swaying with the buzz of those flies. The hot waxy walls that seemed to bend as he looked about; looked as if they were going to fall in on him. The shadows in the corners grinned in that meagre light, everything too heavy, too much. It was acid melted through his blood, corrupting his eyes, betraying his senses. He felt too big, too fat as if he'd taken in all the noxious air in the room, body lazy, numb as he was flat on that bed. His wrists arched to his sides, the rope not allowing slack. His body was still clothed in those thin scrubs. The only way too be cool would have been to rip his own skin off his skeleton. Would that be so bad?

The door opened, the door closed, his weak head up from the filthy pillow to try and spy who it was. The Lamb of God was an imposing thing; or was it of the Devil? There were monsters here. It stood, silent, head cocked to one side, those unblinking eyes and that white face, pale and albino. Its ashen curls gave way to thick red. The light bulb gave out. He couldn't hear it move; just another vision of a madman. But he wasn't mad – he wasn't. He'd been cured by her touch and their love. He just had to keep it inside. His demons couldn't be in the real world.

But he'd seen this one before.

Heart beat hard, harder, hardest. His breaths were too loud. The last draws of power in that bulb burned out. This was darkness. He was bound inside his own box; his own brain. He felt fear – true real, it squirmed throughout him like a snake through his gut. But he was too gone; half dead and half alive and lost in the middle. Light, little pretty light overhead; it hung like his very own sun. That face, it blocked it away, it made his eyes close, his head turn away. This nightmare, this wasn't his creation. This was the child of someone else. Something was pushed against his mouth.

No.

Dean turned himself away as much as he could, but a hand gripped his face, fingers forced between his teeth, made his mouth open. Something cold flushed down his gullet. It splashed over his burning face, cooled him only for a minute. His eyes opened a little, saw that lamb stare at him, empty glass clasped in giant fist. He could taste that water. He wanted every drop, he wanted more; he wanted a fucking endless well because he'd drink it dry and still want more. His body was a desert, energy sapped.

'What do you want?' he was tired of this shit. Life was a landslide, and with every minute he was drowning under the oncoming dirt, it was falling harder and harder against him, never letting him, testing him, torturing him. Had he seen this room before? It was hard to tell; his right mind had never been present in Cottonwood. 'Where's my brother?'

But nothing; the lamb was voiceless and drifted away, the little light returning over Dean's face. The door opened. The door closed.

The creak of something in the corner, of another body; another heavenly monster.

'You and your boys just didn't learn,' he was too pleased. This was the voice that spoke to the core of any criminal, any lost boy. He was the sound of children. The madness in his eyes was imported, selected and seared into him. He collected the lost. 'You didn't learn, that this is _my_ kingdom, and you only come to my door when you need me. Dean, Dean you said you didn't need me when I needed what you had to give. Isn't that a shame? I think it is, because you see Dean, you brought me what I needed again; I'm starting to like you and your direction. You keep coming back when you should have learned what would happen. I liked your body once; it would have done well but your brothers, they took it away. So I needed another, and another, but none of them were right Dean. I wanted something special, only the best would be good enough for her. Oh and she liked what you brought Dean, she's talking to me, telling me, whispering that you did well. That all along you would do what she wanted. She never left you did she Dean? I poured her in your ear when we took you apart and fed you to her to give her strength.'

Madness, ever-lasting madness was an infection. It ate his heart and it rotted his brain. She was in his head; she'd always been in his head.

'She told me what you did Dean. She told me you buried her new bones in my yard. You brought us your beating heart and your bleeding brain. It's all right; you found your way home again.' The laugh, 'I heard a story Dean. I heard the walls of St. Jude's came tumbling down, knocked out from under their clever feet. Clever feet, clever brains they don't know the truth. They never saw, but you did, you always knew that it was nothing! Nothing more than their illusion locked in their skulls, and that the truth Dean the truth is we're all animals, we're all monsters, but you – you are special Dean, you're the greatest demon of them all, that's why you were always the one. Even when they took you away, I knew I'd find the rest of your pieces one day.'

'Wyatt, where's Roman?'

'Your friend is staying with us, our special guest.' Wyatt leaned forward in that chair, _her _chair. 'He's quiet, strong, yes, yes he'll do well too. He'll be perfect for when she comes again.'

_Her, she_, oh Sister Abigail, your false prophet is lost too – Wyatt rocked in that chair, determined for his messianic rise.

'What do you want with us now? Haven't you taken enough of me?'

'Enough! Ha! Never enough Dean; I am only her mouth, you shall be her heart and your friend will be her body.'

Dean strained against his ropes, 'Leave Roman out of this.'

'Oh no, you misunderstand.' Wyatt was on his feet, next to the bed; far too bright eyes bore down into Dean's. 'You brought her here Dean – she's the perfect vessel. We'll meet again soon, she'll bring judgement Dean, and you'll be loved by her. This is a world Dean that we build bone by bone and we need to pick our best tools from the lambs we slaughter.' His hand touched Dean's chest, hovered over his heart. 'You're a ripe lamb.' He smiled, eerie, cold, '_Mary had a little lamb, his fleece as white as snow, and everywhere that Mary went, that lamb was sure to go_. You followed her, as I do, as we all do Dean. Every one of my children sings her name; they knew that she will come again, that we will burn the earth with her love.'

'Your Sister Abigail can suck my cock,' Dean growled.

Wyatt's hand moved, gripped a hold of Dean's crotch and squeezed until the pain passed his lips. 'This, this is her love. She taught me Dean, she taught me that love is pain and pain is the only way we can hope to live. She told us that, and I understood. I knew what she was telling me. That pain – pain is redemption, pain is hope, pain is the dead leaves and flies. Your pain, and everything you feel, is the path to freedom Dean. This pain right now, this is the _start_, and she will be the end.'

He let go, and Dean tried to move away from him, but the ropes held him tight.

'Love Dean, it's the beginner of war. I like the thought of war. We'll take back this world,' Wyatt's eyes moved to that bulb, 'we'll be the vultures in the sky and the blood moon as she takes us forward. Hate makes us fight, but love, love makes monsters of us all.'

His lips pressed against Dean's forehead. The door swung open, a hulking silhouette against the light.

'Cut him loose.' Wyatt said with a smile, 'there is work to be done.'

* * *

><p>'You alright big man? Come on, wake up now. Can't be lying around. They'll get you easy if you just lie there.'<p>

Roman didn't move. Everything hurt. Moving was too much effort.

'Or just do what you want. Stay there. It's all fine by me. You know I should probably just leave you for the buzzards to find. They like meat, and you got lots of it.'

Too fucking cold – always so cold; he actually missed the warmth of the arena. The hundreds of bodies crushed together, the adrenaline, it had all served to heat his blood. Then there was the diner, with its little booths and central heating, Renee's warm smile. Where was she now? Was she safe? Of course she wasn't...if she was alive, she wasn't safe. He'd thrown her into the hell they lived with nothing but a candle to guide her. It was irresponsible of him, but he wanted to see her, hear her, just to know that she was still going. That she was coping with what he'd asked of her. And Seth...his brother, the last memory of him was still strong, wrapped up in that holey blanket.

'But then what do I know? Been here long enough. It's important they said, it's for the betterment of mankind they said. You'll be a hero they told me, there'll be a shiny medal on your chest for this one. All you gotta do is hand over your soul to the crazy man in the woods, figure out what's going on, where the people are coming from, are they the ones responsible? All the questions and I was going to be the one with all the answers they said.' The voice snorted, and Roman felt his head being raised and something rolled up and squishy pushed underneath it to support him. 'You know I'm sure I've seen you before. Seen a lot of people, good guys and bad guys over the years. They said I was the greatest once, a superhero because of everything I did. My family, they were so proud.' He had a deep voice, strong. It almost reminded him of his own – was he listening to his subconscious? No, it made no sense. But this was the Wyatt's world. Anything was possible in Cottonwood.

'It's good to have someone to talk to. Been a while.'

There was a crackling sound, a slight warmth, and Roman's eyes opened a little against ashy air, wood smoke crept up his nose.

'Ah so you are awake. Welcome big man.' The voice was a little further away, a little above him. He saw a face he thought he knew. The jaw was familiar, those small eyes. Everything, everything seemed the same as a memory he had, of a man who walked the streets. There were differences, the thick tangled beard, the long dusty brown hair...but he knew that face.

'Easy big man,' hands helped him as he sat up, kept him steady, 'you took a knock. One hell of a knock to the noggin, I've taken a few over my time here, into walls, pots, the well, hell even into a pig, not fun for me or the pig. Rattles you up right? Used to be real sound up in this.' He knocked the side of his head. 'Still pretty solid, but every now and again...it's the Wyatt family, they do that. It's like their music; it makes you stop and listen.' He drifted off for a moment, before he snapped back to earth.

'Where am I?'

'Just told you, the Wyatt family compound. Luke dumped you here and told me to watch you. So I did, because I got fuck all else to do. I'm all out of prayers for today.'

'I know the feeling.' He felt like he'd been hit with a bulldozer. 'Dean...where's Dean?'

'Inside,' the man looked off toward one of the wooden buildings, 'most don't go in. They stay outside in their huts and their shacks and they sit and they pray, they chop wood, they eat, they sing, they pray if they have any words left. Only Bray's children go inside. Your Dean, he must be special.' He paused and scratched his chin, hidden somewhere beneath the beard. 'Dean...know that name, I know that name real well...'

'I need to get him out.' Roman tried to stand but the other man stopped him.

'No can do big man. Rowan and Harper guard that place like dogs. One sniff of you and your head will be on a pretty stick to decorate the fences. No, you're better off out here. Come closer, you're freezing.' He hitched his hands under Roman's arms and dragged him closer to the young fire. He poked sticks into the wood, ripped a piece off his own greasy shirt to add fuel. 'Haven't had no folks join for a while. Most are smart, stay away.'

'Then why are you here?'

The other man looked into the fires rather than him, saw those flames dance, 'I'm just waiting.'

'For what?'

'The right time.'

'To?'

'Well I haven't figured out that bit yet. Ask me a year ago and I would have said to bust them for all the shit and the brainwashing, the torture and the sacrifice, you know like any good citizen would. But there's nothing for me beyond those trees now. They keep me here, I eat, I keep an eye on the kids, I help build huts, there's worse.'

'Like brainwashing, torture and sacrifice?'

'Yeah.'

'Sounds like the first part worked.' Roman grunted. If he had known this man before, he sure as hell wasn't who he used to be. There was a happiness in how he spoke, like he knew what he was saying was horrific, but it had been drilled into his brain that as long as everything was alright for the most part, things were hunky dory. 'You can stay here if you want, I need to get Dean back. Went through too much shit getting him in the first place in Kennedy.'

'You're from Kennedy? I remember Kennedy. Used to clean up the streets. I was good at it, too good. That's why they sent me here. Said I'd done so well that I deserved a challenge.'

Roman faltered. 'You were a cop?'

'I had a badge.' The man continued, as if he hadn't heard. 'Haven't seen it for a long time now. It was real shiny, made me feel important. People knew who I was. They'd say hello, and they trusted me and loved me or hated me and spat at me. Here, here everyone likes me.' He seemed wistful, as if he'd worked his entire life just to be liked and approved of.

'That's great. That's real great. I'm going.' Roman made to stand up once again, only to be butted back to the floor. The man was hulking, a creature of great strength and stature, like he'd been built rather than born.

'Can't go big man, no one leaves here without Bray's say so. And he ain't saying so.'

'I don't give a flying fuck what Wyatt says.'

'You should, he's a man who tells the truth...he sees what we don't, makes you realise the truth about yourself. He saw me, took a long time for me to realize that he was right, that he was the way when the rest of the world turned its back on me. He told me he needed me, to help watch his flock. That I would be his shepherd and I would keep his children safe.'

'You know if you wanted to be accepted in a place like Kennedy you wouldn't have been a cop. It's a suicide note.'

'I do miss that badge though. I felt indestructible wearing it. I used to fight them all you know – all the bad guys when I caught them doing wrong. I even took on the Shield...didn't go so well but I did it. Because they were doing the wrong thing; they didn't even know it. I tried to tell them, tried to show them that the Authority were the big bad, but they didn't listen. They never listened, made me realize that I wasn't cut out for it anymore...that I needed change. I couldn't save them all if I couldn't save three guys from fucking up forever. So I took what the Game gave me and came here. Still here, shoulda been collecting answers and saving lives but Bray's saving souls so what chance do I have?'

_A lone man stood in their way, blocked their exit from their grisly crime. The alleyway was blocked on their end, the only way out through him. His eyes weren't on them, but on the crumpled body on the ground. An Authoritarian skivvy who's big mouth and big ego had threatened the Game's perfect balance. He needed to be taught a lesson, just so he knew that things were how they should be. That any rebellion would cause problems, would threaten Kennedy's new beginning. He was bleeding, but alive, sobbing at their feet, his name tag splattered with his own blood: Brad Maddox. That lone man moved his eyes onto them. _

'_Dean Ambrose, Roman Reigns, Seth Ambrose, you're under arrest for assault and battery.' His voice rebounded off the walls as he showed them his spit cleaned badge through the rain. _

'_Ooo scary,' Dean smirked. 'What you gonna do? Cuff us and stuff us?' he twisted his hands together as if his wrists were bound, 'Wasn't us officer, didn't do a thing officer, can't blame us officer, he made us do it by being a fucking pussy. Couldn't help it officer.' He moved closer, flanked by his brothers as Maddox tried to crawl away. 'We don't answer to you pig,' Dean spat at the other man's feet, but then stopped, licked his own teeth, head rolled and glared. 'I know you. You were there when they pulled Mom out the water. You told me it was going to be Ok. It wasn't. It fucking wasn't, you lied to me. You fucking lied to me!' _

_Dean moved. They didn't stop him._

'You like kids?'

'Always, wish I had my own. Came real close once – there was this one lad...I was still a rookie, went along to the slums cos a kid had rung in about his Mom locked in the bathroom. She'd drowned, he was on his own. Tried to help him, but he was a fucking animal – scared shitless, bit me so hard lost this,' he held up his hand to show he was missing the top of his middle finger, 'must have been fifteen, thought he was a tough nut. I was tougher. Wanted to help him out, said I'd take him in. But they said he'd done it. Never believed it. They took him away...Dean...'

'Dean Ambrose.'

The man stared at him, 'That...yeah...he...'

'Became part of the Shield. He's my brother, and he's inside that place.'

He turned his eyes on the building, unbelieving that the past was repeating itself, that the scruffy fifteen year old he'd tried to save once, had been locked up once again.

'You're Roman Reigns. You kicked my nose in.'

'Sorry about that.'

'Wasn't the first time.'

'Will you help me? Help me get him out of here? Help stop the Wyatts?'

He seemed uncomfortable, the very thought of going against the man who trusted him with his people, the one who'd taken him in, shown him the way when he'd been lost. They were all lost, every single one. The people watched them from the entrances of their huts, the fire flickered against their faces.

'Look, I'm going in with, or without you. You can either stay out of my way, or do your fucking job. You're a cop aren't you? So act like one!' He was up on his feet, realized he'd been dressed in an old vest and shirt to try and protect him from the cold, no doubt given to him by the cop. But he was given no answer. He stood, wavered in the firelight. Roman wasn't going to wait for him. Too many people waited; Daniel Bryan waited with his fucking revolution, this copper waited for a reason. He wasn't having it. Waiting cost lives.

He walked away, toward that building. Sure enough, at its entrance stood the hulking body of a man, with wide eyes, a lantern held high. He didn't leave anything missed, and Roman knew there was no way of getting closer without being seen. He hissed to himself, tried to edge round the sweep of the lantern light, but anytime he got close enough, he had to move back out of range. One small step could be the end of it all – perhaps if he was caught, he'd be taken to where Dean was, but then all attempts of a surprise assault were gone. If Seth had been there, he would have been able to clamber up into one of the windows. The man was the perfect thief, fingers like fucking glue.

The lantern came again, but Roman, too slow, was caught in the headlights.

He shielded his eyes, waited for the attack to come from the man in the door, but it didn't. He heard a strange sound, as if someone were cracking a dozen eggs at once. When he finally looked, finally saw, the man was on the ground, lantern on its side by his head. His eyes were closed, knocked out by the shadow behind. The cop moved into the light once again.

'Officer Cena, reporting for duty.'


End file.
